What Will's Friends Did Once His Tale Was Done
by Wynjamor
Summary: Set a month or so after AKT. Wat, Roland and Geoff are working for a new knight, and meet a Count who isn't what he seems. GCOC, KOC
1. Geoff helps a lady

Disclaimer: No characters belong to me except Ismene and Thomas - fanfiction is purely for fun.  
  
It was a mild day in mid-February, which found a young woman dressed in simple garb riding alone into the bustling camp that had sprung up in anticipation of the Oxford Tournament. She carried a scabbard at her hip and a grey bow on her back, with a sheaf of arrows hanging alongside a cloth bag from her saddle. Her horse was dappled grey, dusty from the road and tired from days of travelling from the north. Little notice was taken of them as they entered the camp and wove their way amongst the stalls towards the blacksmith's quarters. They were a dejected sight, but no more so than scores of other peasants who came to watch the knights battle for riches and honour.  
  
Ismene dismounted with some relief outside a blacksmith's tent. Riding had cramped her muscles, and she was sure that the horse felt better for the rest, too. The heat from the forge was welcome this early in the year, and Ismene hailed the blacksmith almost cheerfully.  
  
"Hello there," she said as the grizzled man looked up from where he was beating a piece of plate-armour. "I have work for you, if you're willing?"  
  
The blacksmith stopped hammering and looked her up and down slowly. "Oh aye? What work would that be, lass?"  
  
"A sword," she replied. "I need it re-forging. Can you do it?"  
  
The man leaned back from his work, stretching his back leisurely. "And what would a young girl like yourself be wanting a sword for?"  
  
Ismene frowned. "What do people normally want swords for?" she bristled.  
  
"Fighting, normally. See this now." he motioned to the armour he was fashioning. "It's for Lord Liddesham. He's entered the jousting competition, so he needs it? What could *you* possibly need with a sword?" he regarded her mockingly. "I'm afraid I have better things to do than make weapons for girls."  
  
Ismene's frown had now become a black scowl. She drew a breath and unleashed a hail of poisonous abuse onto the startled blacksmith.  
  
Geoffrey Chaucer watched with amusement the scene unfolding a few dozen yards up from Kate's blacksmiths' tent. A woman - barely more than a girl really - was attacking a red-faced man with some of the most colourful language he'd ever heard outside of a gambling den. He made a mental note to use some in a story he was writing. Kate had stopped work and come to join him.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked, watching the debate with interest.  
  
"It seems that the blacksmith refuses to make something for the young lady" Geoff replied. "I don't think she's too pleased."  
  
By now the large man was shouting back at the girl, who stepped backwards defensively as he raised his hammer in threat. When he had stopped shouting she said something in a low voice which Geoffrey and Kate didn't catch, then took her horse by the bridle, turned it away from the seething man, and stalked off down the makeshift street towards the writer and woman blacksmith.  
  
"Excuse me," Chaucer stepped into the street in front of woman and horse as they were about to pass him by. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with yonder blacksmith," he motioned up the street to where the grim-faced man still glared angrily towards them. "and I feel that myself and my friend here may be of help to you."  
  
Ismene had been startled by his sudden address, but his politeness calmed her, and she now appraised him and the small woman next to him, who wore a leather apron blackened with soot.  
  
"You're a blacksmith?" she asked the woman, a faint hint of surprise in her voice.  
  
"Yes." Kate replied defiantly.  
  
Ismene nodded. The woman probably shared her lack of acceptance in this male-dominated world, which gave her hope she would find what she needed here.  
  
"I need a sword re-forging," she stated. "and some mail fixing. Can you do it?"  
  
"Of course!" the woman smiled. "Come inside, show me what I have to work with."  
  
Ismene took her saddle bag, and left her horse, Orthos, tethered to a post outside. The tall man who had accosted her began to talk as he led her inside.  
  
"My name is Geoffrey Chaucer, Weaver of Words, and this is Kate, Mistress of Metallurgy." He motioned to the woman who was clearing a table of chisels and scraps of metal, who smiled at his loquacity.  
  
"Erm.I am Ismene Levoux, of Durham, though I'm afraid I hold no title." Ismene replied. She dug into the saddlebag and pulled out a rusty mail shirt, some of whose links had become broken. It was small in size, and light when Kate took it from her. "I need this repairing" she said. Kate nodded.  
  
"And the sword?"  
  
"Here." Ismene pulled a hilt out of the scabbard, whose blade ended after about six inches in a jagged edge. She turned the scabbard and shook the other half of the blade out onto the table. Kate raised an eyebrow.  
  
"How did this happen?"  
  
"It's an old sword.it just gave up one day. It was most inconvenient, I can tell you."  
  
"I can imagine." Kate agreed, fitting the two pieces of the sword together like a jigsaw. "I can have them ready by tomorrow, if you need them soon."  
  
"Yes.I'm.erm," Ismene stuttered. "having them repaired for a friend. He's taking part in the sword-on-foot in two days' time."  
  
Chaucer regarded this strange girl curiously. She said she was from Durham, but her surname was French. Not only that, her forename was from a Greek tragedy, and as a writer that interested him immensely. He wanted to know why she had been named so. Also, she wore breeches, which were certainly not the clothes of a woman. It was all very curious. As she and Kate finished their deal, the strange woman began to look uncomfortable.  
  
"There's just one thing," she began. "I won't be able to pay you until after the tournament."  
  
Kate's face fell. "Really?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. Once my friend has won, you will, of course, be paid in full." She saw Kate's uncertainty. "I understand however, if you don't take my word for it." She made to pick up the remains of the sword, but a hand on her arm gently restrained her.  
  
"Of course your word is good enough!" Chaucer stepped in. "Your friend has a good chance of winning?"  
  
"The best." Ismene smiled.  
  
Kate's face, however, showed displeasure. "You will leave your horse here as insurance?"  
  
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the woman's face, but Chaucer's expectant grin seemed to have some influence upon her. "You have a deal."  
  
Ismene took her leave of her new acquaintances, taking all her bags from Orthos and making sure that he would be well looked-after, and left the blacksmith's tent feeling a lot better. She was as out of luck at the moment as she had ever been - circumstances had robbed her of both money and opportunity, and she had few friends to whom she could turn. Her only real chance of survival was to win some event in the tournament, or gamble the right way. The money that would bring could buy passage to France on some ship sailing from the east coast. Entering the tournament was harder than it sounded though. Firstly, you had to be of noble blood, and secondly, you had to be male. Ismene was neither, but she had a way round that. The "friend" she had spoken of to the woman blacksmith and the talkative man would indeed enter the tournament. But he would not be the one competing. Ismene's saddle bag held an outfit of black which would hide her form and face so that the plot would not be discovered. Her friend had written to say he would arrive at the tournament the next day, which gave her just one night to kill by herself.  
  
She whiled away several hours wandering the camp, looking at the goods on offer from the trinket stalls, and then went into Oxford to join the crowd of peasants gawping at the knights who had arrived with rich entourages from the surrounding fiefdoms. Ismene noted with dismay that her clothing fit in with the peasants almost perfectly - if anything she was a little too clean though. She was no peasant however, and thought with impatience of the money that would surely bring her life back on track. After the knights had passed, she began to think about where she would spend the night. If she was to have a bed, she needed money.  
  
Digging in her pockets she found two bronze pieces - enough for some mouldy bread perhaps, but nowhere near what she would need for a bed for the night. On the road she had caught her food so money had not been such an issue, but the noise of the tournament had surely scared away all the game for miles around. Someone had once suggested she sell herself to earn enough to make a living.but he had ended up in an infirmary for his troubles. Ismene headed for a gambling den.  
  
The tent that served as the den was stereotypical - dingy and dirty, it was full of unsavoury types. Men sat at tables with whores watching over them, no doubt waiting to offer their services to whoever won the most money that night. Ismene, cloak pulled close about herself, made for the card table. Although gambling was normally only open to men, (like most other things) they usually let her play because they thought she was easy pickings. That was their mistake, and Ismene was happy to let them make it.  
  
Joining the game was easy - you simply sat down and had cards dealt to you. Ismene chose a table near the back of the tent, feeling more anonymous there. Although no-one at this tournament was likely to know her, gambling was still a sport for the lowlife of the world. After some suspicious glances she was accepted into the game, and slowly increased her two bronze pieces to four, then eight, then a silver bit. This would cover dinner, and now she was just playing for a warm place to sleep.  
  
Just as the next hand was about to be dealt, a newcomer joined the game. Ismene did a double-take when she saw who it was, and he looked back at her in surprise. It was the man from the blacksmith's.Geoffrey Chaucer, and now he smiled at her in recognition. Ismene managed to smile wanly back. She was there out of necessity, but by the looks of his long embroidered coat he didn't need the money, and that left only one explanation for his presence, which she would rather not contemplate. She shook her head to clear it from these thoughts. For some reason she found herself disappointed in his vice - he had been so nice to her after all.but now he was just an opponent, who would pay for her bed that night.  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey stalked the tent which was to be his home for the next week or so. After William's marriage to Jocelyn, the couple had wanted to be alone (understandably), so he, Kate, Wat and Roland had gone their separate ways. Or, they would have done, if their "separate" ways hadn't turned out to be exactly the same. Kate had started out on the tourney circuit, and she still wanted to ply her trade there; Wat and Roland had managed to get themselves taken on as squires to a knight who had become friends with Will, and Geoffrey was loving his audiences too much to leave them now for a life in the city, so he had been taken on as Herald by the same knight, Sir Francois de Villeux.  
  
Although there was a lot of work to be done for his master before the tournament began, hardly any of the cleaning, planning or preparing had to be done by the herald. Geoffrey found himself redundant until it came to announcing his master in the joust. He could work on an introduction, but oration came naturally to him. In short, he planned to make it up as he went along.  
  
The only interesting thing that had happened that day had been the arrival of that strange girl. Her horse looked expensive, but it was not shod, and her clothes had been those of a peasant. She had white, straight teeth however, and clean hair, and pale skin that any noblewoman would kill for. In fact, he thought, she was something of a beauty. And her name.Ismene, who had been ready to die for her sister in the Greek legend.Geoffrey's romantic spirit was stirred by the unusual name, and the story her French surname must surely conceal. He was bound to see her again, he thought excitedly, but that did not solve the problem of what to do in the meantime. He knew what he *wanted* to do, but the last time he had done it, he'd ended up naked.  
  
A few minutes later he found himself walking purposefully towards the gambling tent he had noticed on his arrival in the camp. He wasn't quite sure when exactly his resolve had failed, but he knew now that he could not keep away from his one other passion aside from writing. He entered the tent with a sigh of satisfaction, although the sight which met his eyes was not one he normally condoned. Whores thronged the spaces in between the dirty men crouched over tables, and the air stank of stale beer and unwashed bodies. The writer made his way to the card tables, and selected one which was a little outside the main crowd of people. He pulled out a chair to sit down, and began to scan the other men at the table to gauge the set of the game. His sky blue eyes met wide, dark blue, somehow familiar ones, and he started in surprise as he recognised the girl he had been thinking about a mere hour before.  
  
He smiled instinctively, although he was more than a little shocked at her presence in such a place. She was probably the only woman in there who wasn't a whore. At least, he didn't *think* she was a whore.  
  
The cards were dealt, and Geoffrey felt all the old emotions coming back - the need to disguise your face when looking at your cards; the rush which came from knowing that you had a good hand, and the sly cleverness when you had a poor hand but bluffed the other men into folding and giving you easy winnings. His hand this time was a good one, and he put his money in with all the others as the game got going. He watched Ismene closely. Her face was blank and passive - she had obviously played before, and that just raised even *more* questions! Two men folded in this first round, leaving five players. More cards were dealt, and the stakes were raised again.  
  
Geoffrey's own hand was poor, and he folded soon afterwards. He watched with interest as Ismene won that round with nothing but two pairs, and scooped the bronze coin into a pile to her left.  
  
The next few rounds went in a similar fashion - Ismene folded in all of them, obviously waiting for better cards. Geoffrey himself won two rounds, felt the old rush of victory, and knew that if he ever tried to give up the game, it would prove a difficult task indeed.  
  
~**~  
  
Ismene was beginning to get frustrated. She was so close to having enough to last till Thomas arrived, but the cards would not come her way. She watched Chaucer play - he seemed seasoned at the game but was beginning to raise the stakes deliberately so that others were forced to fold, or take wild chances. At the next game, however, she was dealt two good cards so put her money in with everyone else. At the second round the stake was raised to a silver piece, and Ismene saw it, although three of the men did not. Chaucer, herself, and two others remained.  
  
Ismene looked at her cards. Three kings, a queen and a ten, with one more card to be dealt. When that card came, she smiled inwardly - it was impossible to lose. In this round the two men she did not know had folded, leaving herself and Chaucer. She pushed the remainder of her money onto the pile in the centre of the table, and the writer met it, but thankfully did not try to raise her. They looked at each other across the table, and the dealer told them to show their cards. Ismene slowly placed them down - four kings and a queen.  
  
Chaucer smiled and spread his hand out for all to see - a two, and four aces. Ismene stared at the cards in shock. How the hell could she have been so stupid?! She'd just lost her entire nights winnings, including the two worthless bronze pieces she'd had in the first place! She stood up from the table, controlled on the outside but feeling like a dimwit nonetheless.  
  
"Congratulations" she said, putting out her hand to shake Chaucer's. "The best man won."  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey watched the young woman weave her way out of the gambling den with something approaching guilt. Although he'd won fair and square he couldn't help feeling that he'd just robbed her of all she had. She hadn't been able to pay Kate, so she was probably just trying to win some money for food or something. Four aces was a hand you didn't come across often, however, and he'd have been a fool to waste it. In a way, he mused, it was a pity the stakes hadn't been higher.  
  
"You in for this one, mate?" the dealer asked, ready to hand out the next round.  
  
"Erm.no, no I think I'm done here." He replied, scooping the coin into his pocket and standing up from the table. "Good evening to you."  
  
He left the tent a bare minute after the woman, and looking to his left, saw what had to be her form, making its way through the shadows down the street. He jogged to catch up, and when he was within arm's reach, casually tapped her on the shoulder. Ismene stiffened and spun round in surprise, drawing a long dagger from her belt.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, Miss Levoux!" Geoffrey bowed low, and Ismene, on seeing who it was, quickly replaced her dagger.  
  
"No, I'm sorry - I didn't know it was you." She replied. "It's just.one can never be too careful."  
  
Geoffrey nodded. She was a woman travelling alone, after all. "I was wondering," he began, recovering his composure. "if you would allow me to buy you dinner?"  
  
Ismene frowned in confusion. "Do you always buy dinner for those whose money you win?"  
  
"No." he replied. "Those I win money from are seldom as pretty as you."  
  
~**~  
  
When Ismene grudgingly accepted Chaucer's offer of food, she had expected a cup of broth or some bread from one of the many stalls surrounding the encampment, but she soon learned that when the man had said, "dinner", he'd meant it in the sit-down sense. Thus it was that she found herself in an inn, sitting at a table facing the writer, ordering meat and mead. The place was relatively clean, and its clientele seemed to be made up from the knights, rather than from the peasants who watched them.  
  
"So, what brings you to the tourney circuit?" Geoffrey asked, thinking to start the conversation off on a topic that was not too probing. He had done the right thing - the woman smiled when she replied;  
  
"Fame and fortune." She said. "Well fortune, anyway. Its a better living than can be made elsewhere."  
  
"Yes." Geoffrey agreed, thinking of the trouble he had gone through as a struggling writer. "But I've found that most of the fortune goes to the man *winning* the competition, not to his lowly squire.or herald."  
  
This self-deprecating remark warmed Ismene to him. She was naturally suspicious of strangers, but this one seemed like a gentleman.  
  
"I'm both. And general dogsbody." She said. "But we share the winnings, half each."  
  
"Why could your friend not join you today?" Geoffrey asked.  
  
"He had business in the south. And I had business in the north." Ismene sighed. It was difficult to decide how much of the truth she could tell this man without giving anything away. She decided not to lie, just to omit things. "Tournaments aren't exactly a living for us - we just go to them when the money runs short. We're lucky that Thomas - that's my friend - normally wins."  
  
"He must be a skilled fighter."  
  
"He had a good teacher." Ismene smiled. "But tell me, you are a writer, yes?" Geoffrey nodded.  
  
"So what brings you to the tournament? Are you researching a book?" Chaucer told her something of his adventures with Will Thatcher, embellishing the tale a bit, pleased that the young woman seemed entertained and was hanging onto his every word. He told of how William was now married and he was working as a herald, bringing the crowds onto the side of his new knight.  
  
"You certainly have the gift of words!" Ismene laughed. "You tell a good tale. And perhaps you would tell me of your friend - how on earth did a *woman* come to be a blacksmith?"  
  
~**~  
  
By the end of the night Geoffrey was more than glad he'd approached the woman. Although there was a hardness about her, something unapproachable, his gentle manner had drawn her out of herself and he found her to be more learned than he would have imagined in a female. He knew that women could certainly be as intelligent as men, but they didn't have the same opportunity for education. Ismene, however, could read and write, knew Latin and French - the language of nobles (which raised another interesting question), and had even heard of his poem The Book of the Duchess. As they were walking back towards Geoffrey's tent, he asked about her name.  
  
"My father was a Frenchman," Ismene said unnecessarily. "Although that doesn't explain why he named me after a Greek heroine. To be quite honest, I don't have a clue what he was thinking."  
  
"Your mother didn't know?" Geoffrey asked. The woman's face darkened.  
  
"My mother died in childbirth."  
  
"Oh.I'm sorry." Geoffrey feared he'd gone too far - Ismene went silent, and when he asked if she had a bed for the night, she merely replied in the affirmative, then thanked him for the meal and bid him goodnight.  
  
Ismene didn't have a bed, but she was resigned now to sleeping beneath the stars once again. It was a long time since she'd been on what could almost have been thought of as a date, but in her present situation she didn't need the attention. If he were to know what she was planning, he might report her to the authorities, and then she'd really be in trouble. She looked back as she made her way down the dark street - a tall figure stood watching her, but his face was in shadow, and she felt a pang of guilt that she may have upset or offended him. It wasn't his fault she was so defensive - she just wasn't in the habit of letting people close, especially men.  
  
~**~  
  
"Where have *you* been all evening?" the jovial tone met Geoff as he threw back the flap of his tent. Roland was sitting at a table engaged in some sewing, whilst Wat was sprawled on the floor some feet away studying a leaflet advertising the knights who would be taking part in the tournament.  
  
"Kate said you were trying to lose your shirt again." Wat sniggered, earning a glare from the tall man.  
  
"Actually, I was having dinner with a young lady." He replied. "You know, those creatures that won't talk to you, Wat.  
  
Wat scowled. "Can't have been much of a lady to go out with you" he muttered.  
  
"What's she like?" Roland asked, laying down his sewing.  
  
"The paragon of perfection!" Geoffrey cried, gesturing widely. "Beautiful, learned, a little on the short side, but we can't all be masterfully built." He looked at Wat pointedly.  
  
"What's her name?" this came from Roland, as Wat was smouldering too much to form a retort.  
  
"Ismene." The writer pronounced this carefully. "A Greek goddess."  
  
"She's Greek?!" Wat was amazed. "What's a bloody Greek doing in England?!"  
  
"She's not Greek."  
  
"But you said."  
  
"I know what I said! Look, she's having Kate forge a sword and some mail, so maybe, if you're lucky, you'll see her tomorrow."  
  
Roland grinned. "I look forward to it. Now go and tell Wat what that leaflet says - he's been poring over it for hours."  
  
"Let me see, my illiterate friend." Geoffrey said, taking the piece of paper from the redhead. "Lord Chiswick declares he will skewer any fool mad enough to oppose him in the jousting tournament. Hmm.he's confident."  
  
"Ha! Wait'll he sees our boy!" Roland laughed. "I've been making these jerkins for us to wear." He held up his handiwork - cloth shirts bearing Count Villeux's coat of arms, a swan on a blue field.  
  
"Lovely!" Geoffrey sank into a chair opposite his friend. "Your needlework is as fine as any maiden's."  
  
Roland scowled. "How dare you - it's finer!" 


	2. Friends and Suspicions

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Ismene awoke to someone roughly shaking her shoulder. Her hand went to her dagger as she opened her eyes and jumped to her feet, but she quickly relaxed and broke into a grin when she saw who had woken her.  
  
"Thomas! Good to see you!" she hugged him forcefully and looked him up and down.  
  
Thomas Milton, at age 20, was only just taller than Ismene, and of a slight build. He had short dark hair, blue eyes, and absolutely awful teeth, although he refused to see a dentist. He was a milliner's son from London, and wore finer clothes than his female friend.  
  
"Good to see you too! Where's your horse?" he asked, looking round. "Don't tell me you lost him. Was he stolen?"  
  
"No, I left him with a blacksmith." Ismene replied. "The one who's fixing your sword." She winked. "Actually, I don't suppose you have any money, do you? Its just.I left him as insurance and until we win something I probably won't get him back."  
  
She and Thomas began walking towards the camp, Thomas leading his roan mare.  
  
"I'm afraid not. Not enough to pay a blacksmith anyway, unless you want me to go to The King's Arms and get the money back on our rooms so you can sleep outside again tonight?"  
  
"Erm, no, I think I'd rather have a bed. Did your business go well?"  
  
Thomas's father had been widening his business over the past few years, exporting cloth to the continent, and the two had met when Thomas had been travelling the country to act as his father's representative, trying to drum up trade.  
  
"Yes, my father now owns a third of London's linen shops, although he still sees fit to pay me a pittance." He scowled. "It seems that whenever some deal needs to be clinched he sends for me, but when its all said and done I'm redundant again."  
  
"Well, tomorrow we shall begin to make our fortunes." Ismene consoled him.  
  
Thomas laughed. "How many times have I heard you say that?"  
  
~**~  
  
"Hello? Anyone there?" Ismene called into the dim interior of the blacksmith's tent.  
  
Orthos was still tethered outside, and she and Thomas had stopped to pet the beast and tie the roan, Plato, beside it. A flap lifted in the back of the tent and a woman's head poked out.  
  
"Oh, it you!" she exclaimed. "I've finished your mail, and the sword's good as new." She came out into the forge proper and picked them up from beside an anvil. "Here they are."  
  
Thomas took the blade and examined it, then handed it to Ismene, who swung it slowly back and forth. "That's great, thank you." she said. Kate looked from her to the slight man - shouldn't he be the one testing it?  
  
"I'm Thomas Milton." He stuck out his hand and smiled, showing a half set of crooked teeth.  
  
"Nice to meet you" Kate shook his hand and smiled back, despite the feeling of revulsion on looking at his mouth. Just then, loud voices were heard approaching from the street, and a rotund man, followed by a squabbling Geoffrey Chaucer and red-headed fellow, entered the tent. The large man stopped when he saw the two visitors, and the red-head walked straight into him, swearing loudly.  
  
"Watch where you're bloody g.oh!" he shut his mouth as Kate began to laugh.  
  
"Visitors!"  
  
"Miss Levoux, how delightful to see you again!" Geoffrey's face brightened as he stepped round Roland and took her hand, kissing it in a courtly fashion. Ismene was dismayed to feel herself blush. "This is your friend, I take it?" he offered his hand to the man with her, who shook it firmly.  
  
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, but you can call me Thomas Milton. That's my name outside the castle" he grinned. "And you are.?"  
  
"Geoffrey Chaucer. You may have heard of me?" Thomas shook his head, and Geoffrey shrugged. "This is Roland," he pointed to the large man, who was grinning from Thomas to Ismene. "and this fine fellow is Wat." The redhead nodded. "You've already met Kate?"  
  
"Yes." Thomas said. "Just about." He smiled at the blacksmith, and Ismene could tell by the look on his face that he'd seen something he liked.  
  
"Was Orthos any trouble?" Ismene asked Kate, who looked puzzled for a moment. "My horse" she prompted.  
  
"Oh, no, he was fine!" she replied. "Although if you need him now I'll have to take payment."  
  
"I don't need him yet." Ismene assured her. "But you'll have payment tomorrow if Thomas wins, which he will." she looked to Thomas who nodded confidently. Kate wondered how they would make money from his win, as prizes weren't awarded until the end of the event, but Geoffrey guessed their plan - they'd bet on the outcome.  
  
"Erm.this isn't a social call." Roland interrupted, holding up some coloured cloth. He glanced up at Chaucer, who had begun asking Ismene and Thomas where they were staying for the duration. "Not for some of us, anyway. Could you put this emblem onto Sir Villeux's breastplate?" he held out the jerkin with its swan design, and Kate scrutinised it carefully.  
  
"I think so." she said. "Just leave it with me and I'll do it for tomorrow."  
  
"Great" Roland handed her the cloth. "Come on now Geoffrey - we've got work to do!"  
  
Geoffrey looked up, slightly annoyed that his conversation with the object of his curiosity had been interrupted. "A herald doesn't work until the day of the tournament!"  
  
"Not this one." Roland replied. "Sir Villeux told me to tell you to go and see him, as soon as you had a moment."  
  
Geoffrey sighed. "Will we be seeing you later?" he asked Ismene and her friend. Ismene nodded.  
  
"I think so" she said. "We'll be at The King's Arms anyway, if you need us."  
  
When the three men had left, Thomas and Ismene thanked Kate and led Plato through the encampment towards the practise ring, where they would study the other knights' methods of fighting.  
  
"What did you go and tell them where we're staying for?" Thomas demanded. "You know what'll happen if people find out - they'll be on us like a ton of bricks!"  
  
Ismene shook her head. "They seem like good people."  
  
"You mean Chaucer seems like a good person." Thomas accused. "You'd not even met the other blokes before, had you?"  
  
"Well, no." Ismene conceded. "But, well.we kind of went for dinner last night."  
  
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You what?"  
  
"He won all my money at cards and then offered to buy me dinner, and I said yes."  
  
Thomas opened and shut his mouth a few times. "Firstly, what the hell were you doing gambling? Secondly, I thought you had a thing about secrecy, especially about not letting strange men take you out, and thirdly.god, there is no thirdly, but what's bloody come over you?!"  
  
Ismene slapped him on the arm. "I don't know! It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then he started asking questions." she saw the look on her friend's face. "but I didn't tell him anything, don't worry."  
  
"Good." Thomas scowled. "I'd hate to think you were letting your lustful feelings get in the way of earning a living."  
  
Ismene spluttered into laughter. "'Lustful feelings'?" she mimicked. "That's a bit poetic for you! Anyway, why can't I have dinner with a nice man - its not exactly often I meet one! But you're one to talk, I saw the way you looked at that blacksmith." she nudged him in the side playfully. "Why don't you ask *her* out to dinner, hmm?"  
  
"I couldn't afford it. She'd have to buy *me* dinner." Thomas laughed, not angry anymore. "I could ask her out for something free though. What's free?"  
  
They were now leaning against the fence of the practise ring, watching two knights spar with each other, swords clanging and glinting in the sunlight.  
  
"A walk? Some stargazing? A ride on your horse?" Ismene looked at Thomas as he laughed. "That wasn't meant as a metaphor, you know."  
  
She began to watch the opponents in the ring in earnest. A man standing to one side of them acting as referee wore a yellow jerkin embroidered with a red cockerel. Both men wore light chain mail, but one man was a lot bigger than the other - his long golden hair was matted back from his face by sweat, and his expression as he swung at his opponent was one of anger and determination.  
  
"He's certainly getting into the spirit of things." Thomas observed as the man knocked his opponent off his feet with a brutal slap to the face with the flat of his sword.  
  
"Who is he?" Ismene asked a nearby squire, dressed in blue, who was probably there for the same reason as her and Thomas.  
  
"That's Lord Chiswick the Younger." The squire replied. "He's said to be the favourite for the sword-fighting, and you can see why." Chiswick had now pulled the other man to his feet, only to punch him in the stomach causing him to keel over in pain.  
  
"His brother - Lord Chiswick the Elder, is taking part in the joust. They're both as bad as each other." The squire shook his head in disgust. "If you take my advice you'll stay away from them."  
  
"Thanks.I think I will." Ismene agreed. "But.who's his opponent?" she wondered who would let the big man beat them up like that. Surely not another knight - not *before* the competition?  
  
"That's his squire." The squire shuddered. "I wouldn't want to be him right now."  
  
The man in blue was called by his master, and Thomas and Ismene were left alone to watch the carnage.  
  
"Are you sure you want to fight him?" Thomas asked. "I mean, I know you're good, but you're not exactly that strong."  
  
"Hey!" Ismene pretended to be insulted. "I'm as strong as an ox! Well, a small ox - more like a calf, really." she started laughing. "Look, I'll be wearing mail, and you know its against the rules to actually stab people. All I have to do is exercise my *far* superior skill."  
  
"Yes.*all* you have to do." Thomas sighed. "Well, good luck." He turned away from the ring, bored of watching some poor soul get the life beaten out of him. "Have you ever thought about making a will?"  
  
~**~  
  
That day was the day for entering the lists, so Thomas, Ismene, and all the other knights and heralds made their way to the long oak table where scribes and judges sat ready to take down proof of eligibility. The queue was long, and Thomas sat down on the ground to wait until things started moving.  
  
"It's a nice day" he observed.  
  
"Yeah.I hope its good weather tomorrow. I hate fighting in the rain."  
  
"You mean, you hate watching fighting in the rain?"  
  
"That's what I said." Ismene shrugged. Its not like anyone was listening to them - everyone in the queue was too busy preparing their 'evidence', or trying to work out how to spell their master's names. She scanned the crowd. Everyone wore the colours of the house they worked for - her and Thomas were almost the only people dressed plainly - they'd probably be taken for a squire and a handmaiden at first, but Thomas had in his pocket a piece of parchment that proved his noble identity. The queue next to theirs seemed to be moving a lot faster, something Thomas was not long in commenting on.  
  
"Why do I always choose the slow queue?" he demanded of the sky. "Why?"  
  
"Sod's law" Ismene said.  
  
"What's a sod, anyway?"  
  
"I don't know. I always thought it was like, dirt."  
  
"Isn't that a clod?"  
  
They were interrupted from their intellectual conversation by the queue, which suddenly shortened considerably as a knight led his 10-strong entourage away from the tables. Thomas got to his feet, and it was not long before they stood before a judge and his scribe.  
  
"Event?" the scribe asked without looking up.  
  
"Sword-on-foot" Ismene answered.  
  
"Ancestry?"  
  
Thomas took the scroll from his pocket and unfurled it for the judge to see. The red-faced old man scrutinised it, then began to read aloud so the scribe could take it all down.  
  
All of a sudden, Ismene felt inexplicably watched. She looked at the man at the head of the line next to her, and her eyes met Chaucer's. He smiled at her, but was obviously listening intently to what the judge was saying as he read Thomas's list.  
  
"Count Thomas of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede III of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede II of Bavaria, son of Count Alfrede I of Bavaria." he paused. "Alfrede a family name eh?" Thomas nodded. "Where was I? Ah yes, Count Alfrede I of Bavaria, son of Count Oscar of Bavaria, son of Count Alexander of Bavaria. Well, I can't say I know much about Bavarian Counts, but this all seems to be in order." The scribe hurriedly finished writing, then made Thomas hand over a board with his crest on - a black lion on a grey background, which was placed alongside the other crests under the sword-on- foot sign.  
  
"Thank you sir" the scribe said dismissively, then called to the next man in the line; "Event?"  
  
Thomas and Ismene left the table, but stopped a few feet away to wait whilst Chaucer finished introducing his knight. The man was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with dark hair and a handsome face. His clothes, Thomas noted, were made of rich fabric and expensively dyed. He stood silent, allowing his herald to do his job, and within a few minutes his coat of arms was placed under 'Joust'. As they turned away from the table the writer scanned the crowd, and his eyes rested upon Thomas and Ismene.  
  
"Count Thomas!" he smiled as he led his knight over to them. "Count Thomas of Bavaria, and Ismene Levoux, may I introduce Count Francois Villeux." The knight and Thomas bowed to each other, then started some inane small-talk which noblemen seemed so fond of. Where they had estates, how long they had been in England.Ismene only half-listened to what Thomas was making up - Geoffrey was looking at her intently, and she met his eyes questioningly.  
  
~**~  
  
It was another coincidence - or was it fate, he wondered? - which brought Geoffrey and the young woman together again at the registration table. He had planned to make his way to The King's Arms that night, but a chance of being in her company had come sooner than he could have hoped! Once again things had become strange - the night before, as he lay in bed, he'd been able to convince himself that Ismene was just a woman travelling alone, understandably paranoid, and although her name was interesting and she surely had a tale to tell, there was nothing too unusual about her. Then he'd met Count Thomas, who looked less like a Count than any he'd ever seen. Unless it was normal for noblemen on the continent to have such foul teeth, and be so undernourished - he was barely taller than the girl herself!  
  
There was something about his ancestry too - having forged one of his own (a most expert and elaborate piece of vellum if he did say so himself) he had a good idea of what made a history genuine, and something just wasn't right about Thomas's. Maybe it was the region; Bavaria seemed to general - most counts were of fiefdoms or towns, but Bavaria was a big place and the title just seemed too anonymous. Whatever the reason, Geoffrey was again suspicious, and now he listened to his master's chitchat with only half an ear - he was regarding Ismene as if she might reveal something just by meeting his gaze.  
  
"Well, we really must be off." Count Villeux said in French-accented English. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Thomas."  
  
"And you." Thomas bowed politely, and nodded to Chaucer as Villeux started walking and asking his herald about how he would be announced the next day.  
  
"He seemed nice." Thomas said. "A bit rich, but nice"  
  
"And he's French" Ismene observed. Thomas couldn't speak it, but Ismene's father had taught her from birth and she spoke it as well as she did English. "I think Chaucer was listening to your history though - are you sure its good enough?"  
  
Thomas frowned, but then shook his head. "Of course - it duped the judge, didn't it? He probably just wanted to see if I had better credentials than his own master!"  
  
Ismene laughed - he could be right. It was no use worrying now anyway, they were in the tournament and preparation for the next day had to begin. And be finished by that night - Thomas was already talking about how much he was going to drink at the inn, which was a sure sign he'd get no work done that evening.  
  
~**~  
  
As night fell, Wat excitedly entered Geoffrey's tent to inform the writer and Roland that they had been given the night off.  
  
"I had the night off anyway" Geoffrey pointed out. He was already putting on clean clothes in preparation for the trip into Oxford. He wanted to look half-decent when he went into The King's Arms. Wat was scowling at him.  
  
"Well, you can do what you like, but I'm going to drink! Drink drink drink!" his face reddened as he shouted the word in glee, and Geoffrey cringed.  
  
"Where are you two planning to go tonight then?" he asked nonchalantly.  
  
Roland grinned. "Well now, we were thinking about dropping into The King's Arms, weren't we Wat?" Wat looked confused but nodded anyway. "I've heard it's a good inn." He watched Geoffrey closely for signs of a reaction - he knew the French girl was staying there, and it was obviously where the tall man had been planning on going.  
  
"Well, I suppose I might as well join you" he sighed as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Wat's face fell, but Geoffrey was too busy pulling on his coat to notice. "Shall we get going?"  
  
~**~  
  
The King's Arms was a large establishment, and it seemed that half the camp had amassed there that night. Wat, skills honed by years of practise, immediately spied a free table, but drinks were a commodity even he could not provide. He, Roland, Kate and Geoffrey sat at the table, peering round for the barman. A fight seemed to have started near the door, and Wat was the only one of the group who did not regret this choice of inn. Geoffrey was even more disconsolate because there was no sign of Ismene. Convincing himself it was just too early in the evening, he slouched in his chair and contented himself with watching Wat watch the fight, his hands unconsciously mimicking those of the combatants. Suddenly, Kate and Roland looked at a spot in the air somewhere behind Geoffrey's head and grinned, waving. He sat up quickly and turned in time to see Thomas and Ismene making their way past the crowded bar towards their table.  
  
"Good evening" Thomas said, pulling up a chair between Kate and Roland. "How are you all?  
  
"Well, thanks" Roland replied. "You?"  
  
"Not so bad" Ismene sat down next to Geoffrey and Wat, and gave the writer an almost shy smile which melted his heart, and which he half-feared he'd imagined.  
  
"Where's the barkeep in this place?!" Wat demanded of Ismene. "I want a drink!"  
  
Ismene was a little startled - she wasn't sure if this fiery-haired man was dangerous, but it was true that none of the company had drinks. She looked round, caught the eye of a man in a dirty apron, and motioned him over.  
  
"How did you.?" Wat was at a loss for words.  
  
"What can I get you?" the barman asked, looking from the pretty girl in front of him, to the irate man next to her.  
  
"Beer!" Wat cried. "Lots of beer!"  
  
"I'll have a beer too" Roland said.  
  
"So will I" Kate put in.  
  
"Me too"  
  
"Yeah, beer please"  
  
"A pint of your finest ale" said Geoffrey.  
  
"Right, so erm, six beers then. Be right back." The barkeep hurried off, and Thomas tried to start up a conversation with Kate about horses. Ismene smiled a little as she watched him. He was in awe of her, it was obvious - but she was sure he'd have a better chance if only he'd see a dentist.Geoffrey interrupted her reverie with a question.  
  
"You got home safely last night I trust?"  
  
Ismene remembered how she'd left him without really thanking him properly for taking her out, and she cringed inwardly as she felt herself blush. "Erm.yes, thank you. Listen - I'm sorry if I came across as, well, defensive. It's just, well." she stopped, unsure of how to go on, especially when Wat and Roland seemed to be listening. Geoffrey's eyes met hers, and he seemed to understand.  
  
"Of course" he said. "No need to apologise" and he turned the conversation to another topic, and their drinks arrived and the night was filled with laughter and tales of adventure. Thomas found himself liking the group more than he could have imagined, and Ismene felt sometimes that she and Geoffrey were sharing subtleties the others missed, but she wasn't sure if she liked it or was afraid of what it might bring.  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey left the inn that night with Roland alone. Wat had wanted to go on drinking despite his work on the morrow, Ismene had retired to bed, and Kate had left earlier with Count Thomas, who'd said that although he couldn't buy her dinner, "a moonlit walk is free." Geoffrey sighed. So was love, supposedly.  
  
Roland, interpreting this sigh to be one of longing, turned to his friend as they entered the camp. "She's pretty" he observed. Geoffrey looked round to see who he could be talking about.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You know who. Ismene."  
  
"Oh!" Geoffrey realised. "She's not pretty. She's beautiful."  
  
"Now Geoff, don't get all melancholy on me - she may be beautiful, but is she worth it? You've been all weird since you met her."  
  
Geoffrey sighed again. The night before, when they'd had dinner, he hadn't doubted her intellect and she'd been charming at times, but tonight she'd proved to be excellent company. She'd told of how herself and Thomas had once found themselves in a besieged city in France, and had escaped through the town sewers just before the place was burned down. It would make a good story, if only someone would write it down. Despite all her charms however, he still got the feeling that she and the Count were not what they seemed. That mystery only enticed him further.  
  
"I think she is" he said at length.  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey was not the only one that night with his thoughts concentrated on a woman, but he wasn't as lucky as some. Kate had allowed Thomas to take her for a walk, and now they sat beside the Thames which ran through Oxford before making its way to London, looking at the stars. He told her tales of the Gods and Goddesses whose forms they showed which he'd learned from Ismene, and Kate leaned against him for warmth, enjoying the sound of his voice and the feel of his arm around her. He was a lovely man - so down to earth she could hardly imagine he was noble. He had no qualms about drinking with common folk, and she got the feeling that his attentions were given to her because he genuinely liked her, not because she was some wench who could be taken whenever he wanted. Besides, if he thought he could try it on, she'd soon show him differently.  
  
"And now he stands in the sky, with his faithful hound." Thomas said of Orion. "He watches over hunters - makes sure the kill is good."  
  
"Do you hunt often?" Kate asked. She had made arrowheads in the past - she knew how effective they could be at felling both small prey when hunting, and men in war.  
  
"Not as much as I'd like to." Thomas said. "I have an estate in Bavaria which is excellent for deer. The only trouble is I'm hardly ever at home."  
  
"What brings you to England?" Kate asked. Thomas barely had to think - he'd rehearsed this story so many times he could recite it in his sleep.  
  
"Money, mostly. You may have noticed I'm not exactly rich." Kate nodded, laughing softly. "I'm planning to hire my services to the king. There's fortunes to be made in plunder."  
  
"Plunder isn't just about money though is it?" Kate asked. "Usually villages burn and women are dishonoured. Would you take part in that too?"  
  
Thomas stiffened. "No. I'm not that sort of man."  
  
Kate sat up to face him. "I'm sorry" she said. "I know you're not like that."  
  
She leaned towards him, and a pang of guilt shot through Thomas as he realised he'd only really made her like him through a pack of lies, but the feeling quickly fled as her lips pressed softly against his.  
  
~**~  
  
Ismene lay awake that night, sometimes wondering what Wat was doing in the bar downstairs, sometimes about if Thomas had managed to seduce Kate, and sometimes thinking about Chaucer.  
  
The more she saw him the more she liked him. She was hardly ever attracted to men - most of them were either repulsive or only after one thing - but the herald was different - kind, gentle, intelligent; he made her laugh, and there was something about those intent blue eyes and the suggestion of strength in his lean frame that made her heart beat faster. She closed her eyes and sighed. Tomorrow was the first day of reckoning - definitely not the time for girlish fantasies. 


	3. The truth will out

Disclaimer: No AKT characters are mine - fic is purely for fun.  
  
The first day of the tournament dawned bright and clear, and Ismene hurried down to the lists to see who she had been drawn against. Along with a dozen or so other squires she stood on tiptoe to see properly - 16 knights were in the first round of the sword-on-foot, the colours on their bright plaques clashing as they hung from poles behind the judges' table. Thomas's emblem - a black lion on a grey background - hung beside that of a red rose; the sign of the House of Lancashire. Wondering who the knight was, she jumped when someone grabbed her shoulders.  
  
"Thomas!"  
  
"Morning - who're you up against?"  
  
"Lancashire"  
  
"Oh.isn't he that scrawny one? I think I saw him yesterday - didn't look like he could hold a sword very well."  
  
"I hope so" Ismene said. She looked back at the lists. Villeux's joust was near the start of the tournament, as was her fight. She and Thomas began to walk back to the inn.  
  
"Have you prepared everything?"  
  
"Certainly. Your mail's polished, the outfit looks pretty good, and I've sharpened your sword. Is there anything else?"  
  
"I don't think so.what time am I on?"  
  
"Yours is the second fight, so about 10 o'clock"  
  
They had three hours to kill, and spent the time in a state of nervous agitation. They had no-one to talk to except each other - their only friends at the tournament were no doubt readying Count Villeux for the joust, and Kate was busy making last-minute bits of armour. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen. As it neared 9 o'clock, Ismene and Thomas retired to their rooms to get ready.  
  
Ismene pulled on black breeches, a tight leather jerkin over which she donned her mail, and a black shirt with her emblem emblazoned on the breast which covered this completely. Soft shoes allowed her quick movement, which she relied upon to make up for her lack of strength. She met Thomas in the hallway - he was dressed exactly the same, the only difference being the sword at his hip.  
  
They wandered down to the swordfight ring, pushing through the scores of peasants and townsfolk who'd turned out for the occasion. The nobles sat in raised boxes to one side of the ring where they would gain the best view of the show. Although the joust was by far the most popular event, there was still a large crowd, and Ismene felt more than nervous.  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey was expected by his lord shortly, but he'd stopped off at the sword ring to here Ismene speak. He'd found out when Count Thomas was fighting just so he could see her oratory skills in action - it was unfortunate Villeux was on at the same time - he wouldn't be able to talk to her afterwards.  
  
The first fight ended with one knight on the floor, a blade at his throat, the crowd going wild with the anticipation of blood. A knight with a green emblem was declared the victor, and he hauled his opponent to his feet so they could walk off together, chatting sportingly.  
  
~**~  
  
Under the shadows of the stand, Thomas took off his sword belt whilst Ismene pulled on a black mask - it was like a balaclava, covering all her face except for the eyes. Black mesh covered her mouth and nose, obscuring them but allowing her to breathe. It was unusual to have her face covered, but the crowd would take it for a gimmick. Her hair was caught up tightly and the clothes hid her form so well she could have passed easily for Thomas. He handed her the sword, winked, and ran out to the applause of the crowd. With his hair slicked back and unshaved, he was almost unrecognisable as the Count who'd signed up the day before.  
  
~**~  
  
Why was Thomas out already? Geoffrey wondered. Perhaps there was some problem? He listened as the man began to speak.  
  
"Hear me! I introduce to you a man I know well - I met him hunting in Switzerland, that most beautiful of countries - he drank me under the table at a feast that night and I've been his herald ever since!" The crowd cheered, and Thomas grinned. "I give you.Count Thomas of Bavaria!"  
  
Cheers and applause greeted the figure who walked into the ring. They were dressed completely in black; even their face was covered. Although of a similar build to Thomas, he was acting as herald. Geoffrey's jaw dropped as realisation hit him - *that's* what she was hiding!  
  
~**~  
  
Ismene weighed the sword in her hand as she circled her opponent. Thomas was right - he was only a few inches taller than herself, and looked nervous - he was holding his blade defensively. Cat-quick she shifted her weight onto her front foot and slashed down - the attack was barely blocked and the knight had no time to retort as she cut sideways, then back and upwards, almost disarming him. He jumped back a few paces and seemed to steel himself, before coming back at her wildly. She parried his blows with little difficulty and thrust back, unbalancing him. It was a one-sided fight, and when Ismene finally tripped him so he fell onto his backside, he yielded before the question was properly out of her mouth.  
  
She bowed to the crowd, making them applaud even louder, and hurried off as the booing began for the fallen knight.  
  
"That was great!" Thomas enthused as she handed him back the sword.  
  
"You mean it was easy!" Ismene was barely out of breath.  
  
"Well it doesn't matter - I won a cartload on you"  
  
"Great, you can buy me a drink!"  
  
~**~  
  
Geoffrey was forced to hurry off to the joust before Thomas left the ring, but what he'd seen was on his mind all through Villeux's event. Wat and Roland couldn't get through to him - he just looked at them dazedly when they spoke and they thought he was either mad or had just found a king's ransom. Villeux won quickly, but it wasn't until a victory lap of the stadium and a long soliloquy from his herald that the knight allowed said man to leave. Geoffrey went straight to the sword-on-foot ring, where he asked a peasant who had won the previous fight.  
  
"Count Thomas!" the peasant grinned. "I might have a flutter on him next time, if you know what I mean?"  
  
Geoffrey just nodded - he was looking round for any sign of the pair, but couldn't see them by the stands or in the crowd.  
  
*Where would I go if I were them?* he thought. Then he knew - Kate's.  
  
~**~  
  
"So I pushed him back, but he came at me again and I blocked him and turned and slashed." Thomas was acting out his victory for the blacksmith's benefit. "I tripped him and he was on the floor with my sword at his throat." he paused for dramatic effect. "and I asked him; 'do you yield?'"  
  
"Did he?" Kate asked, wide-eyed.  
  
"Of course! He yielded and I."  
  
"You're not a Count!" a breathless Geoffrey appeared at the tent entrance, looking wild, coat-tails catching up with him a moment later. He strode into the forge and took Ismene roughly by the shoulders, but he was grinning. "You darling girl, you fooled them all!"  
  
"What the.Geoff!" Kate exclaimed. "What are you on about?!" She looked from her tall friend to Thomas, whose expression was one approaching fear. "Thomas?"  
  
"You fought." Geoffrey was still intent on Ismene. "He's your herald, not a Count." he paused, breathing hard from his run over, remembering how Will Thatcher had pulled practically the same stunt. "You forged your papers.it's wonderful!"  
  
"WHAT?!" Kate exploded, shoving Thomas away from her side. "You're not a Count? You *lied* to me?!"  
  
"I.erm.yes." Kate glared at him; tears came to her eyes and she stormed out of the tent. Ismene, her heart beating wildly, desperately wanted to be anywhere else - they'd been discovered - it was all over before it had really begun. She broke free of Geoffrey's grasp and hurried out of the forge in the opposite direction to Kate.  
  
"Does everyone know?" Thomas asked after a few moments' silence in which he and Geoffrey just stared at each other.  
  
"No." Geoff thought. ".unless anyone else would have recognised you as a Count introducing himself?"  
  
"No." Thomas looked terrible. "Do you think Kate'll forgive me?"  
  
"You lied to her. I don't know.I like you Thomas, but if you hurt her I'll kill you."  
  
Thomas nodded. "I'd better find her. Go and look for Ismene - if she thinks we've been discovered she might high-tail it out of here."  
  
~**~  
  
Well, that's that for another chapter. Mistress of the Pen: thanks for your review! I've actually finished this fic but was waiting to see if people liked it before posting the whole thing. My poor frail ego.  
  
Anyway, please excuse all historical inaccuracies (I'm sure there are many) and bear in mind I've not seen the film for a while so I apologise for anything out of character. Until next time.R&R! 


	4. The story of my life

Disclaimer: No AKT characters are mine, fanfiction is just for fun, etc etc...  
  
Geoff searched all over the camp for Ismene, but it wasn't until almost an hour had passed that a wine-seller said he'd seen her heading in the direction of town.  
  
"She looked a bit upset mate – I hope you make it up to her!"  
  
The town was busy with shoppers and visitors – Geoffrey didn't have a chance of seeing her in the crowd. He ducked into a side street to escape the bustle so he could gather his thoughts, but as he leant against the wall to catch his breath, he was arrested by the sound of water. The lane he was in opened out onto a small square – a decorative fountain stood in the middle playing the tune he'd heard, and a small figure in black sat beside it.  
  
"Ismene?"  
  
She turned at the sound of his voice, looking pale and upset, but didn't move when he sat down beside her.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"I don't know...No." Ismene hung her head. "If I've been found out I'll have to leave soon, if I don't want to end up in prison."  
  
"You haven't been found out"  
  
"But you said..."  
  
"I said that *I* knew. I saw Thomas acting the herald and realised what you were doing. It didn't surprise me to be honest – I always got the impression there was something you weren't telling me."  
  
Ismene regarded him suspiciously. "So it's still on?"  
  
"Your plot?" Geoff smiled reassuringly. "Yes...I won't tell anyone."  
  
"Kate knows"  
  
Geoff sighed. "There's something I've not told you...Before I came here I said was in the service of a man called Will Thatcher – he wasn't a knight; he was a thatcher's son who just wanted to joust. He'd helped me when I was in need and to repay him I forged his papers sp he could enter a tournament as a noble."  
  
"Really?" Colour had returned to Ismene's cheeks. "Are you serious?"  
  
"Perfectly! What's more – he won! That's how I met Wat, Roland and Kate – we were all party to his scheme. I suppose you could say we aided and abetted him."  
  
Ismene smiled admiringly – she was seeing him in a whole new light. "You didn't tell me this last night – it would have made a great tale!"  
  
"Last night I thought Thomas was a Count. A lowly Count, but a noble nonetheless. I could hardly tell him I'd been a criminal, although it wounds my intelligence to think that I didn't see what you were up to, not when I'd done it once myself!"  
  
"To be honest, it feels good not to have it a secret anymore. I mean, I had to lie to you and I'm sorry for that...I didn't know I could trust you. It's not often someone shows kindness like you did..."  
  
Geoff dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "I understand your need for secrecy – it's a brave thing to do, you know. Especially as you're, well...a woman. You must be very skilled in sword fighting..."  
  
It was a tentative question, Ismene knew, and she felt it was about time to tell him everything.  
  
"Would you like to hear how I got here?"  
  
"I would, if it pleases you to tell me"  
  
"It all began in France..."  
  
~**~  
  
Ismene, motherless, had been brought up by her father who was a man-at-arms to a French noble. She had grown up between the battlefields of northern France and a church school in Durham – her education paid for by her father's lord in return for some past service rendered. She learned to wield a bow and sword so she could defend herself when her father wasn't near. She'd never contemplated marriage – on turning 12 her father had turned down all offers...for a man of his generation and standing he was radical in thinking she should marry for love and not convenience – a sign perhaps of how much he loved her mother.  
  
Soon after that birthday her father was injured in battle, and no longer able to fight, he became a squire for a tournament knight. Following the circuit, Ismene learnt the codes of chivalry and gained life experience and friends amongst the other tourney people. Because of this, when her father was killed in a brawl, she wasn't as defenceless as some took her for. She gathered enough money for passage to England, and at the age of 15 left France an orphan to start a new life.  
  
Her skill with arms protected her on the dangerous journey alone – having spent half her life in England she spoke the language perfectly, and soon found employment at a house in Durham, where she acted as bookkeeper, scribe, and sometimes guard. Two years on her master married, but his new wife was jealous of her husband's attractive servant – Ismene had to leave, and wandered the country a while, where she met Thomas, also drifting in search of a living. After several adventures Thomas had been forced to return to London to help his father, and Ismene herself received news that her father may have left her more in his will than the clothes on her back. She'd returned to Durham to discuss the matter with a French emissary, who advised her to return to Gascony.  
  
This brought Ismene to the present day, as she promised to meet Thomas at the Oxford tournament. They both needed the money – him to set up home for himself, and her to buy passage to France to settle her father's estate.  
  
"And that's my life story. I guess I never really landed on my feet." Ismene shrugged.  
  
Geoffrey sat in silence for a long moment. She was an orphan, with no means of making a living, and a long journey ahead she was preparing to face alone. He felt a rush of sympathy.  
  
"You're strong to bear life as you do"  
  
"I may have troubles, but I'd rather be this way than married with children like most women are at my age."  
  
"How old *are* you?"  
  
"18. Sometimes I feel 28."  
  
Geoffrey nodded, understanding. She'd seen more carnage on the battlefield than a lot of warriors, and had built such mental defences against hurt – all her life she'd faced death and rejection. "You're so young...you shouldn't be burdened with so many cares."  
  
"Really? Would you like to take some then?" Ismene snapped, but quickly looked down at her hands in shame. Geoffrey took them in his own.  
  
"If you'll let me..."  
  
~**~  
  
A/N: Hmm...what will happen next? Please RnR! 


	5. Thomas makes amends

Disclaimer: No AKT characters are mine, fanfiction is just for fun.  
  
Count Villeux, having won the first round of the joust, decided his armour wasn't extravagant enough – he wanted it engraved on the shoulder plates as well as the chest with his coat of arms, and he wanted it in time for the second round in a little over an hour's time. Wat and Roland had been entrusted with getting it done.  
  
"Kate! Kate, are you in?" Roland called into the forge. A moment's silence was followed by a rustling sound from behind a flap of canvas at the back of the tent, and a dishevelled-looking Kate appeared.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Got some more armour needs engraving...are you ok?"  
  
"Yes...No..."  
  
Roland put down the armour. "What's happened?"  
  
Kate sighed. "It's Thomas...he's not a Count"  
  
"What d'you mean?" Wat asked.  
  
"I mean he lied to us. He's...he's doing a William!"  
  
Wat looked puzzled, but Roland grinned. "Well I never! You mean he's taking part illegally?"  
  
"Sort of..."  
  
"Haha! I wondered why he hung around with us lot! Well, good luck to him!"  
  
"It's not him – Ismene's the one who's taking part."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He entered, but she pretends to be him and fights."  
  
"That's even better!" Roland was grinning from ear to ear. "Why do you look so upset?"  
  
"He LIED to me!" Kate cried. "I started to like him as a Count, and suddenly it turns out he's a milliner's son...how am I *supposed* to feel?!"  
  
"Ah...you've got a point..."  
  
"I'll hurt him for you!" Wat burst out. "Just tell me to and I'll..." he punched one fist into an open palm. Kate was tempted to give him the go- ahead.  
  
"But would you have liked him if he wasn't a Count?" Roland asked.  
  
"...Maybe..."  
  
"Well then – he's not a bad lad, he probably couldn't tell you in case you told the judges."  
  
"He could have trusted me!"  
  
Roland didn't want to argue – Kate was getting irate.  
  
"Look, I'll have a word with him"  
  
"Don't!"  
  
"Why not? If you like him and he likes you...which he does."  
  
"I just don't know if I can trust him."  
  
"Let me talk to him."  
  
"Let me hurt him!" Wat cried.  
  
"Fine, you can talk to him. But stop going on about it! What do you want me to do with that armour?"  
  
~**~  
  
Thomas may have almost ruined his new relationship, but Geoffrey had managed to gain Ismene's trust – after Villeux's joust he'd gone to find her and they'd spent half the night talking and the next day, as Wat and Roland were talking to Kate, he was arriving at the sword ring to see Ismene's next fight. Eight knights were left in the competition, and Ismene was drawn against Prince Michael of Prussia – a member of the extended Prussian royal family, who at 22 was a strapping young man, confident when he saw the stature of his opponent.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen..." Thomas began half-heartedly. "...boys and girls, I present to you a knight of the highest calibre, from the distant land of Germany. It is a land of monsters, and I am quite certain that one inhabits his very soul. I give you – Count Thomas of Bavaria."  
  
Despite the lacklustre delivery, the words were good and Ismene was received by loud cheers. The Prussian prince had a herald who spoke with a thick accent, but the novelty of the way he ran around and gestured as if half-mad amused the crowd and won many of them over to his side. The prince entered, wearing chain mail down to his knees. His sword was very wide and heavy, and he wore a bright helm which, although affording protection, would certainly obscure his vision.  
  
Geoffrey felt the excitement of the crowd mixed with concern for Ismene's safety. She looked small next to the prince, and he cringed as their blades suddenly clashed with a resounding clang. The crowd began to bay for their chosen champion, and Geoffrey found himself shouting encouragement to Count Thomas.  
  
It soon became clear that although the weaker of the two, Ismene was faster, and she exhibited skill dodging the prince's blows, hitting back herself when his defence was dropped. After several minutes it seemed that she was gaining the upper hand, but suddenly the bigger man lashed out with his free arm, knocking her off her feet. She landed heavily on her back, and barely had time to roll out of the way before his sword came stabbing down to impale the ground on which she had fallen.  
  
"Come on!" Geoff shouted. "Get up!"  
  
Ismene scrambled to her feet, blocking a heavy blow aimed at her head. As the big knight began to turn, she quickly ducked and thrust her blade low – connecting with the mail covering his groin. He stopped dead, doubled over in pain, and a groan from the crowd showed the sympathy half of them felt. Ismene raised her foot and kicked his side, pushing him over so he lay curled up and prone on the ground.  
  
"Do you yield?"  
  
"No! You do not fight honourably!" His accent was difficult to understand, especially as he was talking through gritted teeth.  
  
"It's not against the rules"  
  
Geoff, from his vantage point near the back of the crowd, wondered what was taking so long. Ismene and the prince seemed to be having a discussion. The crowd had started a rude chant about male parts, and he suppressed the urge to join in.  
  
"Yield!" Ismene cried exasperatedly. The prince shook his head and made to get up, feeling the pain a little less. "Yield or I'll cut your head off!" She pressed her blade to his throat. "That's not an idle threat – I've killed Princes before!"  
  
The Prussian understood the menace in her voice and sank back down to his knees.  
  
"I yield." He turned his blade and handed it to her, hilt first.  
  
"Thank you." Ismene held his sword up to the cheers of the crowd.  
  
~**~  
  
"That was amazing!" Geoffrey caught Ismene up in his arms as she came out from under the stand after giving her sword to Thomas. He was being besieged by admiring fans, and she was able to slip away unnoticed.  
  
"Thanks!" she hugged him tightly. "He didn't want to yield!" She pulled back – her hair was a bit damp and she was still getting her breath back, but apart from that she might have walked straight out of the crowd instead of from the ring.  
  
"Perhaps because you stabbed him in the balls, darling."  
  
"All's fair in love and war"  
  
"Ah, a woman after my own heart!" Geoff draped his arm around her shoulders as they began to walk back to the street. "Would you like some refreshment?"  
  
"A drink would be great"  
  
They stopped at a stall and bought water, then sat on a nearby wall.  
  
"It's weird, coming straight from the ring and having to act like nothing's happened – while Thomas takes all the glory."  
  
"If it's any consolation I'm a fan" Geoffrey said. "When Thomas is famous I can tell people I took him for dinner once upon a time."  
  
Ismene laughed. "You might damage his reputation! Anyway, it'll never go that far – I don't need to win the event, I just need to win enough money from betting on myself."  
  
Geoff thought wistfully of his 'little problem'. "It's all very well – but I wouldn't like to see you get hurt."  
  
Ismene blushed a little. "I won't get hurt – at least, if I do, it won't be as bad as any injuries I've had before."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Geoff, I grew up around wars – the law of averages says you get hit by an arrow or something once in a while."  
  
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. "An arrow?"  
  
"I'm joking! It was actually a crossbow bolt..." She finished her water and slid down from the wall, regarding the writer with her hands on her hips.  
  
"When's Villeux on?"  
  
"Eleve...oh shit!" Geoffrey jumped from the wall and sprang off down the street. "I'm late!" he yelled back as Ismene stood agape. She set off after him, running through the winding lanes of the camp, dodging peasants and squires until finally arriving, breathless, at the jousting ring.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Geoffrey, having reached the ring already, cried between breaths to the waiting crowd. "Forgive me my tardiness – I was detained by a beautiful young lady..." wolf-whistles sounded from the crowd. "...who asked me to purvey a message of her affections to the man you are about to see SLAY his opponent! I give you the one, the only, Count Villeux!"  
  
Villeux appeared on his bay stallion, which was clad in shining mail as was he. Kate had done a good job with the engraving – his emblem could clearly be seen on the plate, and a matching design adorned a pennant tied to his lance. At almost 16 feet long, the lance needed enormous strength to wield, and Villeux held it proudly as his horse danced and pawed at the ground. His opponent was similarly clad in mail, and his lance was just as massive – it had always amazed Ismene that men would want to sit on a horse, unmoving due to the weight of their armour and the presence of the high saddle keeping them there, and allow themselves to be run at by a huge stake. Still, it was a noble sport, and one which could bring not only money but esteem and recognition. As she was contemplating this and marvelling at their finery, Geoffrey came from the ring and took her arm, leading her to stand beside Wat and Roland whose presence she'd not noticed.  
  
The knights brought their horses to separate ends of the jousting ring, on separate sides of the ornate wooden divider. The crowd hushed as they faced each other, and suddenly, without any command from either side, they spurred their horses and charged towards each other. The crowd went wild – Ismene's heart jumped into her throat as they covered the ground with a thud of hooves and a clatter of metal.  
  
"Come on Villeux!" Roland shouted.  
  
"Kill! Kill!" Wat screamed.  
  
With only a few strides left the knights lowered their lances, special troughs on their armour keeping them level, and the crowd gasped as Villeux's lance caught his opponent in the shoulder, breaking into splinters and knocking the man backwards against the cantle. Wat grabbed a spare lance from against the stadium wall, and he and Wat ran out to re-arm their master. The opposing knight's squires did the same as his horse slowed to a walk, and he leant down to talk to them, clutching his shoulder.  
  
"He's hurt!" Geoff said triumphantly. "It's his lance arm too – that gives Villeux an advantage"  
  
"Yeah, but I bet he's even more determined now" Ismene said as the man turned his horse to take up position ready for the next charge.  
  
Villeux was soon ready at the other end, and again without a signal they spurred their horses to a gallop, and Ismene knew that they wouldn't be hearing the crowd anymore – all they would see was each other, closing quickly at the end of a lance. This time, Villeux's aim was bad, and his lance went wide. A moment later his opponent's lance hit him in the chest, not breaking but glancing off his armour and barely shaking him from the saddle. Wat and Roland ran up behind him and steadied his lance as he told them he was fine.  
  
"A scratch!" Ismene heard him declare. "Barely even that – I will unhorse him now!"  
  
Sure enough, on the next run, Villeux's lance connected head-on high on his opponent's chest, lifting him from the saddle so he landed roughly on his back on the dusty ground. His squires ran over to see if he was alright, and the crowd went wild as Villeux saluted them, taking off his helm so they could all see his face. Geoffrey applauded, but didn't look as happy as he might.  
  
"Aren't you pleased?" Ismene asked.  
  
"Yes...but he's a vain bastard" He jogged out to stand by his master, and said a few well-chosen words about his glory when the crowd had finally hushed. Villeux spent a few more minutes basking in praise, then spurred his horse to a walk out of the stadium, stopping in front of Ismene.  
  
"Surely such a beautiful woman did not come to watch me joust?" he said, and Ismene frowned a little at his advances, but before she could open her mouth to reply, a high-pitched voice behind her giggled.  
  
"I may have done, Sir Knight. Would you do me the honour of taking my handkerchief?"  
  
The well-dressed woman pushed past Ismene and held out a small silk square to Villeux, who took it graciously and held it to his heart.  
  
"Of course – I am sure it will be bring me victory!" He leaned down and took the woman's hand, kissing it and causing her to giggle again. Ismene turned away from the display, almost bumping into Geoffrey, who smiled down at her ironically.  
  
"See what I mean?"  
  
~**~  
  
"He's been drawn against Chiswick" Roland said as he entered the tent. It was a few hours after the joust, and he, Wat, Ismene, Thomas and Geoffrey had just returned from a lunch purchased by Villeux's good will. Kate said she was too busy to go, which could have been true, but could also have been caused by Thomas's presence. Roland had stopped off at the lists on the way back so he could find out about his master's new opponent.  
  
Geoffrey was reclining on some skins on the floor, feeling very full. "Do we know anything about him?"  
  
"I talked to the guy he's just beaten" Roland said, sitting down. "Says he's a hard sod"  
  
"Chiswick?" Ismene mused. She felt a bit light-headed from wine, and was sitting back-to-back with Thomas; they were holding each other up. "Haven't I seen him somewhere?"  
  
"Yeah" Thomas said. "Chiswick the Younger's in the sword-on-foot. You must mean Chiswick the Elder" he said to Roland. "We saw the Younger one beating the life out of his squire the other day – someone told us they were both to be avoided."  
  
"Great" Geoffrey said. "Maybe they'll take Villeux down a peg or two."  
  
Wat looked shocked from his place in a corner of the large tent. "You're supposed to be *loyal*!"  
  
"I don't like him either" Roland said. "He's always wanting some new shirt sewn or for his mail to be shinier...and then he only goes and gets it muddy..."  
  
"You sound like his wife" Thomas said, and Roland threw a ball of string at him.  
  
"Well, I think you should watch out for him" Thomas said. "From what I've heard I wouldn't be surprised if he tried something funny."  
  
"You mean, cheating?" Roland asked, remembering the time Count Adhemar had tried to kill William.  
  
"Maybe. I wouldn't put it past him"  
  
"We'll be on the lookout then" Roland said.  
  
"Couldn't you get drawn against Chiswick the Younger then?" Geoff asked from his position on the floor.  
  
"I guess so" Ismene replied. "But only if I win this round. I'm up against Baron Michel of Austria next, and I don't plan to do very well."  
  
"What?" Roland was dismayed. "But you could *win*! Think about it – a woman winning the event – it'd be hilarious! I can just see the looks on the judges faces..."  
  
"I could *try*" Ismene said.  
  
"Oh come on, you could win" Thomas laughed. "I've seen you when you get angry...even Chiswick wouldn't stand a chance." Roland looked questioning. "This is the woman who took down six men-at-arms because they threatened to sell her to the local tavern-keeper" he explained.  
  
"There were five of them" Ismene argued. "But I was quite angry, as you can imagine." She sighed. "The thing is, if we bet all our money on this one fight for me to lose, and I do, we'll be set for about a year. I can get to France and Thomas can set himself up in London. If I try and win though, it means a lot of trouble and if I get discovered we could lose everything. I just think it's safer to quit while we're ahead."  
  
Geoff nodded his agreement, thinking she'd be much safer out of the ring, and even Roland grudgingly assented.  
  
"I suppose so" he allowed. "But it'd still be great if you won...more shocking than when Will did!"  
  
"I'll bet on you to lose then?" Thomas asked, turning his head to try and see his friend.  
  
"Yes, I think that's best."  
  
"You know...if we know the outcome of the fight for definite, we could *all* gamble" Geoffrey said. Roland shook a finger at him.  
  
"You know you're not supposed to!"  
  
Ismene frowned – he had done only a couple of days ago, she'd been there – she didn't think he'd told anyone about it though.  
  
"But it can't hurt if I can't lose!"  
  
"No Geoff!"  
  
"You imprison my very soul!" he cried, sitting up. "It's wrong to restrain natural urges, even if they're frowned upon by certain members of society..." he looked pointedly at Roland.  
  
"If everyone did what they liked the world would be overrun by murderers and the like" Roland pointed out. "I'm sorry Geoff, but if you end up without clothes again I'm not making you any more!"  
  
~**~  
  
The rest of the day passed in similar lazy fashion for Ismene – she had little to do except exercise her horse, which she did by going for a ride in the woods, accompanied by a gloomy Thomas. Geoffrey stayed in the tent catching up on his neglected writing, for which he said so much material had recently been provided he could be busy for days. Wat and Roland were sent for by Villeux and put to work, but the group planned to meet up that night for dinner at The Bay Horse, which was reputed for its good food and strong mead.  
  
"I bet Kate won't join us again" Thomas sighed as he rode Plato alongside Ismene's Orthos. "Roland spoke to me earlier – he said that she doesn't trust me and I'll have to do something pretty good to win her back."  
  
"Well why don't you?" Ismene asked. "I'm not surprised she doesn't trust you..."  
  
"But I couldn't help lying!"  
  
"I know – I'm not saying it's your fault...I'm just saying I can see things from her point of view. She's a Ferrier – it's a man's job and she's probably spent her whole life trying to earn respect and show she's not a walkover, then you come along and she lets herself like you and it turns out you're not the man she thought you were! I'd be a bit pissed off too."  
  
"But what can I do about it?"  
  
"Talk to her I suppose. Prove to her you're just as good a milliner as a Count"  
  
"What if she only liked me for my title?"  
  
"Then she's shallow and not worth the trouble. But I don't think she's that sort of person – just let her know how sorry you are"  
  
Thomas sighed again. "I will"  
  
"Before tonight?"  
  
"Yes..." he didn't sound too convincing, and Ismene glanced at him questioningly.  
  
"I will...I just have to work up the courage for it."  
  
~**~  
  
When they got back to town and had stabled the horses, Thomas set off to the blacksmith's quarter.  
  
"Kate?" he called tentatively on entering the tent. Kate was engaged in beating some plate armour, and looking menacing wielding the hammer. She looked up and started when she saw who it was.  
  
"What do you want?" She lowered her hand but didn't let go of the instrument.  
  
"To talk to you" he stepped further into the tent. "I want to tell you how sorry I am."  
  
"Sorry?" Kate looked amazed. "You lied to me Thomas!"  
  
"I know – but I had to, about my title and job. Everything else is true – everything I told you I'd done, I have. Everywhere I said I'd been, I have! I was telling the truth when I said you were beautiful and I think you're the most amazing woman..." he lowered his gaze. "If you don't want to be with me because I'm not a Count, I'll accept that, but I just wanted you to know that you don't have to doubt how I feel about you."  
  
Kate was silent. She slowly put down the hammer and walked over to him, then put her arms around him and pulled him close. "I don't care if you're a Count or a peasant" she said. "If you really are who I think you are inside, that's enough."  
  
"I am" Thomas said, hugging her back. 


	6. The Inn

Disclaimer: No AKT people are mine, fic is for fun, etc, etc...  
  
Ismene began to dress with more care than usual that evening, then realised what she was doing and mentally reprimanded herself. It wasn't like her to make an effort – she was firmly of the opinion that if someone liked her, they'd like her no matter how she dressed – but looking in the mirror she was actually pleased with what she saw. She'd bathed, and her hair looked silky, simply tied back with dark tendrils left loose to curl about her face. Her eyes were quite blue against her pale skin, and her lips, she decided, were full and red and altogether kissable.  
  
She laughed out loud – these thoughts were stupid. She'd spent so long refusing advances it was an odd thing to invite them. She dressed in breeches and a fitted shirt, and put on a long coat before leaving her room to meet everyone at the inn. Thomas, having made up with Kate, would be calling on her beforehand, leaving Ismene to make her way alone.  
  
She stepped out into the chill night air and breathed deeply. At the moment her life was looking up – money was coming in from the tournament, her new clothes were a testament to that, and the friends she had made brought much needed laughter and a sense of belonging which had been missing since she'd been forced out of the house at Durham. Walking down the streets of Oxford, she smiled to herself at the thought of Thomas and Kate, and at the sight of people going to and fro, most of them talking about the tournament.  
  
The Bay Horse was in a quiet corner of town, and Ismene turned down an empty side-street she thought would bring her out a few doors down from it. The air here was quiet and still – the street dark except for a dim glow coming from a window high above. It was a little sinister and she quickened her pace, not pausing when she heard a door open behind her. Men's voices sounded, then suddenly one called out;  
  
"Hey there!" Ismene faltered but didn't stop, and the voice came again; "Hey you!"  
  
She turned, and the man who had spoken looked startled, then quickly recovered himself and grinned at the two men accompanying him. He was blonde, tall and well-built. He took a step towards her, smiling. "Where are you going?"  
  
"What's it to you?" Ismene asked guardedly.  
  
"Well, a young girl like yourself out all alone at night..." he stepped forwards again. "Maybe I just want to make sure you're safe."  
  
"I'm fine." Ismene said. "Goodnight, sir." She turned to leave, but stopped dead when she saw that two men had stepped out from the shadows, barring her way. They had no visible weapons, but the three men behind her might. She turned back to face the blonde man.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Lord Chiswick" he said. "and you're awfully pretty to be here all alone. You'd better come with me." As a noble he was used to taking what he wanted, especially women.  
  
"And if I don't?"  
  
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice." He grinned nastily, then stepped forwards and grabbed her arm. She pulled away, but he was strong and in her happy mood she'd forgotten to bring her dagger. The other men closed in around her as Chiswick began to laugh, and just as Ismene was about to try and punch him and run, an angry male voice demanded he release her at once. Chiswick turned, and a tall figure stepped into the dim light.  
  
"I said, let her go"  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or I will cut your throat" This came in a French accent, and Count Villeux, dressed in full armour, sword drawn, stepped past Geoffrey and looked imperiously at Chiswick the Younger, who let go of Ismene with a snarl. Geoff hurried over to lead her out of the alleyway, leaving Villeux and the two other knights he was with to settle the score with Chiswick and his men.  
  
"Are you alright?" Geoff asked once they were back in the street.  
  
"Yes, thank you" Ismene said. "You came along at just the right time."  
  
"You should be thanking Villeux" Geoff replied. "Those men would have slaughtered me, but they won't argue with three fully-armed knights"  
  
"What are they doing?" Ismene asked as they started towards the inn, whose sign was visible a few doors down.  
  
"Showing off at a party near here, hence the dress code. I thought I'd walk down with them. Who was that man?"  
  
"Lord Chiswick the Younger. He might carry word of Villeux to his brother."  
  
"I know I said I hoped he'd take Villeux down a bit, but now I want Villeux to win, preferably at the cost of Chiswick's head."  
  
Ismene blushed a little, but they'd reached the inn and now ducked inside, met by welcome warmth and the hum of merry voices. They were the last to arrive and had already been bought drinks – Ismene recounted what had just happened to her and was met with Thomas's vow to meet Chiswick in battle and kill him, and Wat's promise to meet him outside the inn, or any other place she cared to mention, and kill him too.  
  
"I just wish I'd brought a knife or something – it's a little humiliating, being rescued."  
  
"Even by the stereotypical knight in shining armour?" Geoffrey asked.  
  
"Well, if I had to be rescued any way, I'd choose that" she allowed. "How'd you be rescued?"  
  
"By beautiful poetry, which would bring me back from the depths of despair"  
  
"How about you Roland?"  
  
"I'd be rescued by a young maiden bearing food and drink" he said, grinning at a serving girl who came to take their orders.  
  
"Especially drink" Wat said, before asking for his mug to be refilled.  
  
"I'd be rescued by flying away on the back of a dragon." Thomas said. "I've always wanted to fly."  
  
"I hear there are dragons in the East." Roland said.  
  
"I met a Chinaman once" Ismene recounted. "at a tourney. He said there were loads where he came from, and the people worshipped them."  
  
"Godless place" Wat muttered.  
  
"Fascinating culture though" Geoff said. "The things there'd be to write about..."  
  
"Take about a year to get there though, if you didn't get killed on the way" Roland observed.  
  
"Or eaten" Wat said, his face in his mug. "by a dragon."  
  
"I thought St. George killed the last dragon?" Kate asked. She and Thomas were talking together, only dipping in to the general conversation to keep up appearances.  
  
"The last dragon in Christendom, perhaps" Geoff said. "but the East is outside the realm of Christianity."  
  
"Godless place" Wat repeated.  
  
"Why don't we have mythical creatures over here?" Ismene wondered. "You only ever hear about these things as being in some unreachable place. All the animals anyone's ever *seen* are boring, like sheep and horses..."  
  
"Maybe your Chinaman had travelled to the tournament to see the mythical 'horse'." Roland suggested, causing everyone to laugh at the thought.  
  
Shortly, their food arrived, and for the second time that day they feasted well, sitting long into the night drinking and talking. After settling the bill sometime past midnight, they left the inn and started back through town. Wat and Roland walked on ahead, followed by Kate and Thomas, who had been looking longingly at each other all night. Geoff offered Ismene his arm and she took it, glad because not only did she feel tipsy, it was a cold night and being close to him felt good. After the events of earlier she also felt safe.  
  
"Do you ever wonder about the stars?" Geoff asked, looking upwards to where they twinkled brightly in the clear night sky. "How they got there, if anyone lives on them, if they think about us..."  
  
"Yes...I wonder how far away they are, and if we'll ever get there"  
  
"I think we will. We won't live to see it, but one day mankind will get off this Earth."  
  
"And reach the abode of the Gods? What will the church say about that?"  
  
"Maybe they'll find heaven"  
  
"Maybe...maybe they won't"  
  
"If they don't find it then it mustn't be visible"  
  
"Good point. I don't think God would have made it visible if he knew his creation had the ability to reach it while still alive."  
  
"Yes..." Geoff agreed, "...that would be a bit of an oversight..."  
  
Thomas and Kate had stopped walking and were waiting for them to catch up.  
  
"Erm...we're both going to Kate's tent, so I'll say goodnight now" Thomas sounded a little awkward.  
  
"Oh, ok" Ismene replied. "Just make sure you're back in time to get ready for the fight." Thomas could have just meant he was walking Kate home, but Ismene assumed correctly that he was staying the night there. He and Kate struck off on a different street, and one corner later Geoff and Ismene were outside The King's Arms.  
  
"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked as she let go of his arm.  
  
"Yes – Villeux is jousting in the afternoon so I'll be watching you in the morning." Ismene grinned. "You can commiserate me afterwards then"  
  
"I shall do my best"  
  
"Well...Goodnight" She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, before disappearing into the inn. Geoff stood for a few moments, a little stunned, then broke into a grin.  
  
"Goodnight" he murmured after her. 


	7. The Last Swordfight

Disclaimer: No AKT belong to me, fic is just for fun.  
  
Thomas arrived back at the inn late the next morning, and without a word to Ismene, who was impatiently stalking to the bar, ran upstairs and appeared a few minutes later in costume.  
  
"Sorry!" he cried as they left the inn. "I was...erm, delayed."  
  
"Of course you were" Ismene said. "Pray tell, what delayed you?" she didn't want to know, but anything to make him uncomfortable.  
  
"Erm...ah...erm...a dragon?"  
  
"Oh, well it can't be helped then. I hope you have a rousing speech in mind?" They were nearing the sword ring and the crowd could already be heard.  
  
"I don't know if I should...I mean, if I make the crowd like you and then you lose, they might boo you more."  
  
"They might boo *you* more, you mean?"  
  
They entered the stadium and Ismene donned the black mask. The other knight was introduced first; Baron Michel of Austria. When his applause had died down Thomas ran out. "My good people" he began. "...the knight you are about to behold is famous for many things, but perhaps they most renowned is his capture of a dragon." The crowd went quiet, uncertain either what a dragon was, or if they should have heard about this feat. "A fearsome creature, he captured it in The East, and has promised to show us it if he wins the tournament. Would you like to see it?" The crowd cheered their agreement. "Then please give your support to...Count Thomas of Bavaria!"  
  
Ismene had been scanning the crowd throughout this soliloquy, and she spotted Geoffrey near the gates where the crowd was thinnest. He waved to her, and she waved back before walking into the ring, glad she would never have to deliver a dragon to the masses. She blocked out their noise and weighed up her opponent. Baron Michel wasn't very tall, but he was broad across the shoulders and strong, dark haired and handsome beneath a helm which only had a nose- guard, leaving his vision unimpeded. He regarded her intently as they began to circle, and when Ismene struck the first blow he parried it easily.  
  
It was obvious that he was an experienced fighter – the way he waited for her to attack and tried to draw her into making mistakes were sure signs that he was not new to the tourney circuit. Ismene even thought she'd heard his name before, which wasn't surprising – he was Austrian so had probably fought in France.  
  
She had to lose this fight – Thomas had made several wagers the day before to that end – so she dropped her guard deliberately on a few occasions, earning herself painful blows. She had to make him take her down, but he seemed to want to lengthen the fight. They parried back and forth for almost ten minutes, until finally he went on the offensive, showering her with blows she blocked more out of instinct than out of any want to score points. Steeling herself, she dropped her guard and when the Baron hit her square in the chest she didn't have to fake falling down. She lay winded, and the knight stood over her, the tip of his blade ticking her collarbone.  
  
"Yield?"  
  
"Yes"  
  
Geoff was biting his nails as the fight went on, and when Ismene was felled he had to remind himself that he couldn't run out there to see if she was hurt. It had looked painful, but she was wearing mail and shouldn't be too damaged. The Baron was bowing to the crowd and Thomas was now running out to help Ismene to her feet.  
  
They went back under the stand, which was kept free of spectators so the knights would have somewhere quiet to get ready, and Geoff made his way over, only to be barred by two guards.  
  
"It's ok, let him in" Thomas called on seeing him arguing with the men. Ismene had taken off her mask and both she and Thomas were sat on the ground. Thomas, however, now held the sword.  
  
"Are you alright?" Geoff knelt beside her.  
  
"I think so. That hurt..." she grimaced. "a lot."  
  
"I'd better go and get changed" Thomas said. "then I can collect the winnings."  
  
"Good idea. Then you can pay for a surgeon's services – I think I broke a rib." Ismene rubbed her chest tentatively.  
  
"Do you want a doctor?" Geoff looked worried.  
  
"No...I don't think it's that bad" she smiled "I'll just have a really amazing bruise tomorrow" She made to stand, and Geoff quickly steadied her with a hand on her back.  
  
"Careful" he said, "We'll go to my tent." It was quite near, and once they'd arrived at the slow pace Ismene managed, he brought her water which she drank gratefully, before pulling off her mail with his gentle help. All she wore underneath was a soft leather jerkin, and he turned away when she lifted it to examine herself. "I'm just a bit bruised" she said. "...but nothing feels broken." She'd seen all manner of injuries before, and this was by no means life-threatening. "It'd be bad if I had to fight again, but I don't, so all is well."  
  
Just then, Thomas appeared at the entrance. "Am I interrupting anything?"  
  
"No, come in" Geoff replied. "Ismene's just discovered she'll live."  
  
"Of course she will," Thomas said, stepping inside. "and so will I – like a king!" He threw down several bags of coin onto the floor of the tent and one spilled open, gold falling out to glint beckoningly.  
  
"Christ, Thomas!" Ismene blasphemed. "Did you win all this?"  
  
"Not *all* of it. A third is Geoff's."  
  
Geoffrey grinned as Ismene looked at him in mixed disbelief and pride.  
  
"You're a dark horse!"  
  
"A poor writer has to make a living somehow" he said. 


	8. The Semifinal

Disclaimer: No AKT characters are mine, fic is for fun.  
  
"Have you heard the news?!" Thomas bounded into Ismene's room later that day, grinning like an idiot and gesturing wildly.  
  
"No. What is it?" Ismene, lying on her bed resting after her earlier exertions, found herself caught up in his excitement despite herself.  
  
"There's a ball to be held tonight at the manor – all the knights are invited!"  
  
"A ball? I thought that didn't happen until *after* the tournament?"  
  
"Well, normally it does, but I think the Lord of these parts likes parties. Anyway, I'm a knight so I'm invited, and I'm going to ask Kate!"  
  
Since Thomas and Kate had got together the day before, they'd been almost inseparable, and Ismene reminded him gently that a Count would be expected to take a Lady, not a Ferrier.  
  
"I don't care, people can think what they like. Anyway – my retinue is invited, so that means you. I hope you have a decent dress?"  
  
"Erm...no." Ismene said. "Do I have to go?"  
  
"Yes! It wouldn't do for me to go alone – the other knights'd think me a pauper!"  
  
"You are a pauper"  
  
"That's not the point. Here..." he dug into his pocket and handed her some coins. "Go into town and get something nice to wear."  
  
"Yes sir" Ismene said sarcastically, but took the coins and pocketed them. If she had to go she had to go, and she'd certainly need something to wear. She left Thomas to ransack his pack looking for something clean, and went to a clothiers in Oxford. The woman who owned the shop was ancient, with eyes so rheumy it was a wonder she could see to sew, but when Ismene had looked through dozens of dresses and finally chosen the one she wanted, the woman took her measurements with a practised hand and promised it would be altered in time for the ball.  
  
~**~  
  
Seeing the old woman had taken Ismene till after lunch, and she now went to the jousting arena to watch Villeux in the semi-final. Or rather, she went to see Geoff. This was an important fight against Lord Chiswick, and she couldn't keep away. When she arrived, Geoff was talking to the Count as Wat and Roland fixed the last pieces of mail to his stallion. Thomas and Kate were standing to one side, and she went over to talk to them.  
  
"Ismene!" Kate cried on seeing her. "Are you ok? I heard about what happened..."  
  
"I'm fine" she replied. "Just bruised...have I missed anything?"  
  
"No, they're just getting ready. Villeux spent ages asking Wat if his hair looked alright. Wat didn't have a clue so he's asking Geoff now."  
  
Villeux did indeed seem to be gesturing to his hair, and Ismene laughed. "God, but he loves himself!"  
  
"He has reason to, I think" Thomas put in. "See all those women over there?" He pointed, and Ismene saw that about a dozen well-dressed ladies were sitting in the stands, fluttering fans and whispering to each other, all watching Count Villeux or his opponent at the other end of the stadium. "Now why don't the sword-on-foot competitors get that sort of attention?"  
  
Kate slapped him on the arm, and he kissed her forehead to appease her. Shortly, the conversation on hairstyles ended, and Roland ran back to join them while Wat fiddled with the lance, trying to make it sit level on Villeux's arm before he let go. Geoffrey stepped into the middle of the ring, and raised his arms for silence.  
  
"Gracious spectators!" he began. "You are here to witness the greatest event of the tournament, second only to the final itself, and I can promise you that the knight you are about to see will be the victor of both! May I present to you, the man who has won a hundred jousts, who can make ladies swoon with a single glance, whose love poetry brings a tear to the eye - Count Francois Villeux!"  
  
Francois? Ismene mused. She hadn't known his first name before, but this one seemed fitting. Chiswick's herald ran on before the applause had died down, and he pushed Geoffrey out of the way to take centre stage. Geoff stalked out of the ring with a scowl, but brightened when he saw Ismene.  
  
"How do you feel?" he asked as the other herald began his speech. He had accompanied her to the inn where she wanted to rest, and was genuinely concerned.  
  
"I'm fine" she said. "I feel a lot better now."  
  
"Who do you think'll win?" Thomas asked, looking longingly at the bookie's stands nearby.  
  
"Villeux has a good chance" Roland replied. "but Chiswick's determined. I don't like the look of his men."  
  
Chiswick's squires were staring at them from the other end of the ring. They were all large men, unshaven and mean-looking. His herald was scrawny however, and had a nasal voice which carried threats of death to his master's opponent.  
  
"...he will die on my lord's spear, and his soul will go to hell where it belongs..."  
  
Ismene shuddered at the sight of the man's eyes – they were wide and wild and when they travelled over her they seemed to send a chill to her bones. Geoff, noticing her discomfort, put an arm round her shoulders and she gratefully leaned against his tall figure.  
  
When the man had finished, Chiswick rode out, and if anything his armour was shinier and more expensive-looking than was Villeux's, although it was difficult to imagine how that could have occurred. They stopped their horses at opposite ends of the run, and simultaneously slammed down their visors with a resounding double clang. Villeux spurred his stallion first, and Chiswick followed a second later, so that they thundered towards each other as the crowd hushed in anticipation. Ismene felt Geoff's arm tighten around her, and she reached up to grab a handful of his shirt as the knights collided, wood splintering and horses faltering as the weight of man and armour shifted on their backs. Both men had scored direct hits but neither had been unhorsed, and their squires ran out to re-arm them and turn the horses round.  
  
Once Wat and Roland had returned, they reported on the state of their master.  
  
"He says he's fine" Roland said. "but he looks a bit pale – I think he's a bit surprised he got hit."  
  
"He'll be wary next time then." Thomas observed.  
  
"He says Chiswick is the devil's son and he plans to slay him."  
  
"Why?" Kate asked.  
  
"Well, you know he got into a fight with Chiswick's brother last night?" Roland said.  
  
"Really?" Ismene looked questioningly at Geoff, who shrugged to say he wasn't aware of it.  
  
"Yeah, it seems that after he rescued you him and Chiswick the Younger had a little scuffle, and now he wants vengeance. He's asked for a longer lance."  
  
Ismene looked, and she now saw that his lance was a foot or so longer than his opponent's.  
  
"Is that allowed?"  
  
"I'm not sure" Geoff said. "But it'll certainly give him an advantage"  
  
Sure enough, on the next run, Villeux's lance connected with Chiswick's shoulder before the other man's weapon got close, and Chiswick was knocked back roughly against his high saddle, his helm flying off so his dark hair flew free. He wore a grimace of pain, which quickly turned to a scowl of anger as he began shouting at his squires to move faster when re-arming him.  
  
"Villeux leads now" Geoff observed. The knights scored points for direct hits, so even if no-one was unhorsed there'd still be a winner. The next run saw Chiswick scraping some points back and he scored a glancing blow from Villeux's helm. "Not much damage done there then" Roland observed, meaning that Villeux didn't have much brain to lose. The next run saw both lances miss their targets, and the crowd started a chant which demanded action.  
  
"This is the last run, right?" Thomas asked, and Ismene nodded. Whoever did the best now would probably win, as so far the scores were pretty even.  
  
Chiswick and Villeux regarded each other across a hundred yards or so of open ground. Their horses snorted and pawed the ground, steam coming from their necks. With a battle cry, Chiswick broke into a gallop, and Villeux rode hard to meet him.  
  
Perhaps it was the formers wild anger which caused him to be careless, but when his lance missed Villeux by a foot, he let out a cry of surprise before being thrown off his horse by his opponent's weapon. He jumped to his feet quickly, stamping in rage and swearing at his squires, and the crowd howled its derision as Villeux was named the victor.  
  
Ismene clapped and whistled, but didn't join the others in jumping about congratulating the Frenchman – her ribs hurt too much. Geoffrey made a short speech, then returned to his friends as Roland and Wat went to help their master undress.  
  
"Well, that's that" he grinned, happy that Chiswick was vanquished. "You'll come and see the final?"  
  
"Wild horses couldn't keep us away" Kate replied.  
  
"A hangover could though" Thomas said. "Have you heard about the ball tonight?"  
  
"What ball?"  
  
"There's a ball up at the manor house for all the knights and their retinues. We're going, so's Ismene, I think..." he looked at her questioningly.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be there."  
  
"Splendid." Geoffrey said. "I'm sure Villeux will want us to attend. I'll see you then."  
  
Villeux was calling for his assistance, and he jogged off to see what he was needed for.  
  
"I've got some work to do" Kate said. "I'd better get back to the forge."  
  
"I'll help you" Thomas said, and Ismene guessed that the 'work' might have nothing to do with metallurgy.  
  
"You two have fun" she said. "I'm off for lunch, then rest. Will you come for me on the way to the ball?"  
  
"Of course" Thomas said. "I'll have to come back to the inn to change anyway. See  
  
you later"  
  
"Bye bye" 


	9. The Ball

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended on AKT, fic is just for fun.  
  
Geoffrey carried news of the dance to his knight, and Sir Villeux was more than pleased. He clapped his hands in delight and began pacing the tent, asking Roland to bring his finest suit of clothes and to find a man to shave him.  
  
"Ah, but it will be wonderful!" he cried. "A chance to show all the other knights the glory of the House of Villeux...you will be there I suppose?" he asked Geoffrey, who nodded.  
  
"Yes, my lord. Your entire retinue is invited."  
  
"I only require your presence." Villeux said, cutting out Roland and Wat from the occasion. "You will announce me when I enter." He looked his herald up and down. "Make sure to wear something fitting. I do not want the other knights to think me a pauper."  
  
"Yes my lord" Geoffrey said meekly, but when his master's back was turned, made a rude gesture. This man may be a friend of Will's, but he was opinionated and egotistical. The writer detested him. He was good in the joust however, and as long as Geoffrey could whip up the crowd, he was happy to stay in his service.  
  
~**~  
  
Count Villeux arrived at the ball fashionably late, so that the company would all be able to see him enter. His herald, dressed in his Sunday finest, entered first and called for attention.  
  
"May I present to your esteemed highnesses, Count Villeux of Normandy!"  
  
The Count entered with his head held high, the silver thread running through his shirt glittering in the light shed by several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He was clean-shaven, and his golden hair shone. Several women in the audience giggled or gasped at his handsomeness, and the men appraised him like the rivals they were.  
  
Villeux met them all politely and with grace, leaving his herald to make his own way to the drinks table, where he poured himself something strong and began to talk with some squires who had also been brought by their lords then left like surplus baggage.  
  
"Which one's yours then?" A tall squire with a Scottish accent asked.  
  
"Count Villeux, the blonde one with the silver shoes." Geoffrey answered. The Count was indeed wearing silver shoes – he'd had them made specially. "How about you?"  
  
"Mine's got a moustache like something died on his face" the squire muttered, and Geoffrey saw the man with the long moustache wearing the same emblem on his shirt as did his squire. "Dunno why I'm even here, 'cept for the free drink."  
  
"Are you not enjoying the atmosphere? The wonderful play of light on their jewels? The way they measure each other up like butchers, unknowing that every other man in the place is doing the same to them?"  
  
The squire looked at him as if he were mad. "No mate, I'd rather be down the pub."  
  
Just then, the door to the great hall opened again, and a hush fell as people craned to see who it was.  
  
"I present to you, Count Thomas of Bavaria!"  
  
The 'herald' was actually one of the doormen from outside – he'd probably been paid to announce the Count, and Geoffrey wondered where Ismene was. He didn't have to wonder long – Thomas, with Kate on his arm, moved into the room to greet the other knights, and Ismene followed, but instead of going to talk to the Lords and their Ladies she spied the drinks and made her way over.  
  
"Cor blimey!" Geoffrey's new friend breathed. "Look at 'er!"  
  
Ismene had seen Geoffrey and smiled shyly as she arrived at the table. Geoffrey, stunned for a moment, forced himself to take her hand and kiss it. "You look..." he paused. "...amazing."  
  
Amazing? Amazing?! Is that all he could come up with? He mentally kicked himself – he was a renowned author, priding himself on his vocabulary, yet he couldn't even properly compliment the most lovely creature he'd ever seen. Ismene wore pale blue silk, the neck of her dress sweeping low enough to hint at the twin curves of her chest. Small straps exposed her soft shoulders, and the fabric clung to her hips and flowed down her legs, ending almost jaggedly so it was longer in some places than in others. Her legs were long and shapely, her bare arms toned, and her face...Geoffrey lost himself in her eyes, until he was startled by a rough hand pushing him aside.  
  
"I'm Jack Douglas, my lady" the squire took Ismene's hand in his own calloused one and kissed her fingertips.  
  
"Ismene Levoux" she replied, amusedly noticing him cover a grimace on hearing her French name.  
  
"Surely you should be accompanying a knight, not standing here with us squires?" he asked, and Ismene looked at Geoffrey, a hint of amusement in her eyes.  
  
"I'm a squire myself" she informed him.  
  
"Oh..." the man went silent. "Well, perhaps you'd think of allowing me to ask you to..." he was cut off as a loud voice interrupted him.  
  
"Who is this radiant being?" It was Count Villeux. Finding himself superior to the other knights already, he had spotted his herald talking to the most beautiful woman in the room, and mentally congratulated him on securing such a prize for his master.  
  
"Lady Levoux" Geoffrey introduced her, aware that she held no title, but deciding that she deserved one.  
  
"Ah, you are French?" Villeux asked in French.  
  
"Half French" Ismene replied in the same language.  
  
"Well come, you must dance with me!" Villeux took her hand and kissed it, noting that she wore no rings. It was hardly the most polite invitation Ismene had ever received, but she couldn't refuse as he was already pulling her towards the floor. She looked back at Geoffrey with regret – she'd wanted his company, not that of his master. He was looking after her, but she couldn't read his expression.  
  
~**~  
  
"Bloody 'ell!" the squire cursed as Count Villeux led Ismene away. "I were *that* close to getting' a bit of action..."  
  
Geoffrey scowled. He didn't like to here Ismene spoken of like that, nor did he like the fact that his master currently had his arm round her, and was leaning in close to talk to her as the dance began. In French too, he imagined – the way he'd lapsed into the language of nobles showed how he wanted to keep their conversation private from the lower classes present. Geoffrey's heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when she'd walked in, and despite his master's advances, he was suddenly glad he'd had to attend. He watched Ismene in longing – all he wanted was to talk to her, even dance with her, feel her hand in his...  
  
~**~  
  
"So Lady Levoux" Villeux said as the music started. "What part of France are you from?"  
  
"My father was from Gascony" Ismene replied truthfully. "I've only been there once however."  
  
"Ahh,,," Villeux assumed she was the bastard child of some French Lord, although she couldn't hold the title of Lady therefore, it was understandable why she might try. A title with a face like hers could take her many places. "You are here to watch the tournament?"  
  
"Yes, and to give support to a friend who's competing – Count Thomas" she nodded to where he was dancing with Kate.  
  
"Ahh...he lost today, did he not?"  
  
"Yes, but perhaps next time he'll do better."  
  
"I am in the final of the joust myself...will you come and watch me?"  
  
"Certainly" she replied graciously. "I couldn't keep myself away."  
  
Villeux kept asking questions about where she lived, what manner of society she kept, but Ismene was distracted by the pain the dress caused her bruised ribs, and more interested in where Geoffrey had got to. At first he had been watching her, but now he was gone from beside the long table and she couldn't spot his tall figure at that end of the hall. She looked back at her partner who, she noticed, smelt strongly of roses. "Have you been successful in the joust before?"  
  
Villeux's face lit up at the thought that this woman must be an admirer if she took an interest in his event. He didn't recognise her as the girl he'd ignored when meeting Thomas a few days earlier, or as the one he'd saved from Chiswick the Younger. He began to wax lyrical on his past achievements and his hopes for this competition and the future. Ismene automatically nodded and smiled in all the right places, and when the dance was finally over she curtsied to the knight and began to take her leave.  
  
"My lady, I had hoped you would dance again?" he didn't let go of her hand. "You would not disappoint me would you?" Ismene found herself acquiescing, and she spent almost the whole evening at his side. When she did manage to escape to launch a plea to Thomas, she was quickly accosted by another knight who sportingly surrendered her back to Villeux when his dance was over.  
  
~**~  
  
Thomas had watched with amusement as Ismene suffered the attentions of the Frenchman. Chaucer stood at the far end of the hall, conversing no doubt charmingly to those who approached him, but with a face like thunder when he looked to his master.  
  
"I think Chaucer's pissed off" he told Kate, who had asked him what he was looking at over her head. "his master's stolen Ismene."  
  
Kate turned her head to look. "Poor Geoff, he really likes her."  
  
"I think she likes him" Thomas replied. "But it's hard to tell with her."  
  
"She doesn't like Count Villeux anyway!" Kate laughed as the dance ended and  
  
Ismene hurried over, leaving a protesting knight alone.  
  
"Help me!" she whispered. "He won't leave me alone!"  
  
"I would..." Thomas began, "but I'm spoken for!"  
  
"Thanks Thomas, thanks a lot." She looked back at Villeux, who waved. "Look, have you at least got some paper and something I can write with?"  
  
"Erm...I think so, hang on..." Thomas rooted in a pocket and fished out a scrap of paper and a sliver of charcoal.  
  
"That'll turn your pocket black!" Kate exclaimed.  
  
"No-one's going to see inside my pocket, are they?" Thomas argued. Ismene scribbled something down, then handed back the charcoal as she was asked to dance by a dark-haired knight.  
  
~**~  
  
At the end of the evening, Villeux announced that he would escort Lady Levoux home, so she took his arm as they started out of the manor. Outside he hailed a carriage, then noticed his herald leaning against the wall to one side of the door.  
  
"Chaucer! Enjoy the ball? I hope you are ready for tomorrow?"  
  
"Yes my lord" Geoffrey said, not looking at Ismene. He was angry with her, and at himself. She'd spent the whole night with that...rich upstart, and he was almost as shamed as he was upset at her betrayal.  
  
"Good. I'm taking Lady Ismene home, so I will see you early tomorrow morning."  
  
"Of course sir." Geoffrey made to leave, but a soft voice restrained him.  
  
"Goodnight Master Chaucer." Ismene had held out her hand and was waiting for him to take it. He fumed inside – was she really rubbing salt into his wounds? – but took her hand without meeting her eyes and raised it to his lips. As he kissed her soft fingertips he felt her press something into his hand. Startled, he closed his fingers round it and raised his eyes, but she was already turning away. She and Villeux got into the carriage and with a crack of the whip, the driver took them off into the night.  
  
Geoffrey opened his hand – a scrap of parchment was folded there, and on straightening it out he discerned a messy script, which read; "Meet me at the Old town square, Midnight"  
  
A cursive 'I' followed, leaving him in no doubt as to its author. It was ten minutes to the hour at that moment, leaving Geoffrey a few minutes to spare as the square was not far. Nonetheless, he hailed a coach and directed it into town.  
  
~**~  
  
The square was deserted at this time of night. Unlike the New Town Square which held the weekly market, this one was small and almost forgotten – its only redeeming features were some elaborate stone benches round a melodic fountain. He'd met Ismene there once before so it was clear why she had chosen the place. Small thatched houses surrounded the paving – only a few lights shone in their windows, and the stars were clearly visible above. The night was a little chill, and Geoffrey pulled his coat around himself as he heard a clock strike midnight. He sat on a bench to wait, and somewhere, a lute began to play. A minute passed, then another, and just when Geoffrey started to wonder if this was all a trick, light footsteps sounded on the flagstones. He stood, and now Ismene appeared from the shadows. She stopped before him, searching his eyes with her own.  
  
"I'm sorry for tonight – I wish I could've spoken with you." She was nervous, unsure of how he would react. He smiled though – she evidently cared for his feelings...thought he *had* feelings, which was a rare occurrence...  
  
"Count Villeux thought you were the most beautiful woman in the room" he said by way of explanation for his lord's behaviour. "and who could blame him?" Ismene might have blushed – it was too dark to tell for sure.  
  
"He showed me no attention when I wasn't in a dress" she said. Was there a note of bitterness in her voice? Geoffrey took her hand and kissed it softly.  
  
"You don't need ornaments to enhance your beauty – you're perfect in or out of fine clothes." Ismene looked at him a moment before laughing, and Geoffrey realised what he'd just said could be taken the wrong way. It had broken the ice though – when he began to apologise Ismene squeezed his hand.  
  
"It's ok, I...thank you..." she looked into his eyes, listening to the music which came as if from nowhere. "...May I have this dance?"  
  
Geoffrey smiled, nodded, slipped his arm round her slender waist and pulled her close. He felt her hand snake up his arm to his shoulder, where it rested lightly. Her other hand felt small and cold in his, and a wave of protectiveness rushed over him as he leant down to smell her hair – it was like lavender, and he sighed in contentment as she entwined her fingers with his.  
  
~**~  
  
Ismene couldn't remember a moment which had felt so right – all night she'd wanted to be close to him – she felt exposed in the dress and knew he would never make her feel uncomfortable. At least, that's why she thought she needed him at first. It was only when she'd started dancing with Villeux that she realised she wanted to be looked at, wanted a man's arms round her and wanted to lean against him and share his warmth – but that man was not Villeux. Now, as she slid her hand further round his shoulders and gently, tentatively nuzzled his neck, her heart tripped as she caught Geoffrey's masculine scent. His arms were strong – his large hands held her safe and she wanted to stay that way forever. She barely noticed when the music stopped, until Geoffrey gently pulled back to look at her.  
  
Ismene's eyes met his, and they were full of such wonderment and contentment that Geoffrey wanted to hold her and reassure her that everything would stay this way. They'd discovered such trust in each other since they'd met that he couldn't imagine how things could be more perfect – he knew he was falling in love; knew in his heart of hearts that she felt the same. He let go of her hand and raised his own to her face, gently pushing back a stray strand of hair. She smiled as she turned her head to kiss his fingers, and Geoffrey's breath caught in his throat at the touch of her lips. Their eyes met again, and now he leant down, his mouth softly covering hers, the kiss tender and slow. He pulled Ismene close, felt her breath quicken as her body pressed against his and her hand stroked his neck, and lost himself in their embrace. 


	10. The End

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, fic is just for fun.  
  
The final of the joust was the last event to be held the following day, which was lucky for Villeux had not returned home early that night. After dropping Ismene off at the inn he had gone on to a private party, consoling himself with wine after she refused to so much as kiss him goodnight. His squire now shook him awake.  
  
"Sir? Sir!" Roland sighed as Villeux grumbled and turned over. "It's past lunchtime – you should be up."  
  
"Go away!" Came the reply in French.  
  
"What's he saying?" Wat asked, peering over Roland's shoulder.  
  
"I don't know...Come on now sir." He pulled the bedcovers away and Villeux reluctantly opened his eyes. "Get some coffee" he told Wat, who hurried off to oblige.  
  
"Mon Dieu" Villeux exclaimed, rubbing his head. "What happened?"  
  
"Too much mead, I think. The joust's in just a few hours, you need to get up."  
  
"Alright, alright!" The knight pushed away Roland's hands and sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. He groaned and stood slowly. "I am going to the privy."  
  
"Right you are" Roland shook his head as his master disappeared. It would be his own fault if he lost today – stupidity had kept him out all night. Geoff had returned late too, and now Roland went back to the smaller tent they shared with Wat, only to find his friend had just woken and was getting dressed.  
  
"Mornin' Geoff"  
  
"Good morning Roland" Geoff smiled. "How does this beautiful day find you?"  
  
"I'm fine...but its no beautiful day, its starting to rain outside – are you ok?"  
  
"I'm wonderful!" he pulled on a shirt and sat down to put on some shoes. "Life is wonderful!"  
  
Roland was a shrewd man. "Did something happen last night?"  
  
"Maybe, maybe" Geoff remained cryptic. "How's our master? I heard him singing in the middle of the night..."  
  
"He's hung-over, the silly beggar. Wat's gone for some coffee."  
  
"I hope he's fine in time for the fight." Geoff said. "If he's not we can tie him to the horse and make him joust anyway."  
  
Roland went back to tend to Villeux, leaving Geoff to his happy thoughts.  
  
~**~  
  
He wasn't the only one who woke up feeling good – for the second time in as many days Thomas awoke with Kate's head on his chest, and sighed in contentment as she stirred. He stroked her hair, thinking about what they would do after the tournament.  
  
He wanted to stay with her, but would she go to London? His thoughts were cut short as she pushed herself up onto her forearms to kiss him sleepily, and it wasn't until the joust final was about to begin that they finally hurried out of bed.  
  
They arrived, breathless, at the stadium and were allowed into the knight's private area thanks to Wat threatening the guards. He and Roland were busy saddling up the horse, but Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"He's out back, I think" Roland told Kate, motioning behind the stand. She pulled Thomas with her to say hello to him, but stopped dead when she turned the corner. Thomas bumped into her, and she shoved him backwards before he could see anything.  
  
"What?" he demanded, trying to push past her.  
  
"Nothing, come on!" She dragged him away, refusing to tell him that she'd just seen Geoff and Ismene locked in a passionate embrace, oblivious to all around them.  
  
A minute later they appeared, but before anyone could ask where they'd been Geoff was called by Villeux, and ran out into the ring.  
  
"You and Geoff?" Kate had gone to stand next to the other woman, and now whispered the question whilst everyone else was distracted.  
  
"Huh?" Ismene looked confused.  
  
"I saw you just then..."  
  
"Oh..." she blushed. "Yeah..."  
  
"I'm happy for you" Kate smiled reassuringly.  
  
"I'm happy for you too." Ismene smiled back, and they turned to watch the show.  
  
~**~  
  
On the first run Villeux took a glancing blow, but was unhurt and quickly ready with his next lance. This time he hit his opponent, but this was also not a square contact, and the tension grew as the joust looked increasingly even. Villeux once again called for his longer lance, and this time managed to wound his opponent, who clutched at his arm and had it bandaged for support before the fourth run. Villeux paraded round the ring while he waited, blowing kisses to the crowd. When the other knight was ready, the horses charged once again.  
  
"He's winning!" Roland cried as Villeux scored another direct hit. There was just once run left now and the Frenchman was grinning as he took his lance and closed his visor for the last time.  
  
The stallions thundered towards each other, the brightly-painted lances lowered, and the crowd gasped as Villeux, so far the victor, was knocked backwards and almost unhorsed. His steed slowed to a trot and Wat and Roland ran out to se if he was hurt.  
  
"Lord!" Villeux exclaimed. "He almost got me!"  
  
"It'll go on points now!" Roland said, leading the horse back to where Geoff and the others waiting. The crowd had begun to chant; some for the Frenchman and some for his Scottish opponent. In the knight's private area, their entourages were silent, until a flag was raised above the hut in which the judges sat protected from the elements.  
  
"We've won! We've won!" Roland started jumping around and Villeux spurred his horse forward to receive his prize. Thomas and Kate hugged, and Geoff kissed Ismene, drawing a curious glance from Wat, who was grabbed by Roland and forced to dance about before he could remark on what he'd seen.  
  
"I can't believe it" Geoff said. "He's so damn lucky!"  
  
"So are we – this means we get paid!" Roland grinned happily.  
  
"We should celebrate" Wat said. "with drink!"  
  
"As much as I hate to say it, you're right" Geoff took Ismene's hand. "I'm sure the Count won't mind if we slip off."  
  
Villeux was indeed busy, graciously accepting gifts from his fans and praise from his lady admirers.  
  
~**~  
  
Ten minutes later found them firmly ensconced in an inn, drinking mead and talking of the fight. Soon however, the conversation turned to what they would do next. Now that the joust was over, they had little reason to stay at Oxford.  
  
"Villeux should pay us well...I might buy myself a house down in Will's fiefdom"  
  
"You already have a house there" Geoff observed.  
  
"I mean a bigger one."  
  
"I'll buy an inn, or two!" Wat mused. "Maybe a brewery!"  
  
"How about you Thomas?" Kate asked. "What'll you do now?"  
  
"I don't know...I want to set up shop in London, but it depends...What are you doing?"  
  
"I'd quite like a smithy in the city" she said, taking his hand. Everyone else smiled at each other knowingly – it looked like they were in it together for the long haul.  
  
"Are you still going to France?" Thomas asked Ismene when he realised that everyone was watching him.  
  
"Yeah...I have to" she said. "For a while, anyway." She looked at Geoff a little sadly, but he put his arm round her shoulders.  
  
"I don't know...it could be a nice holiday." He smiled, and Ismene narrowed her eyes.  
  
"You'll come?"  
  
"If you'll have me"  
  
She reached out and pulled him down by the front of his shirt so she could kiss him, drawing a whistle from Roland and a cough of disgust from Wat.  
  
"I think I will" she said.  
  
~**~  
  
That night Geoff, Roland and Wat were paid and discharged from Villeux's service. Over a week had passed since they'd left Will, and it would take them a few days' travel to return to his fiefdom. Guessing he'd had enough time alone with Jocelyn, they saw nothing wrong in going back.  
  
Thomas and Ismene sat under the stars as they'd done so many times before – this could be the last chance they'd have to be alone for a long, long time.  
  
"So you and Kate will stay in London?" Ismene began.  
  
"Yeah, at my father's house, god willing, until we get a place of our own. We'll travel with you until then – unless you plan on seeing the city, that is?"  
  
"No, I think the boys want to go home."  
  
"What will you do?"  
  
"Geoff says I'll be welcome at Will Thatcher's house. I think we'll stay there for a while until we sort out travel arrangements."  
  
"Are you and Geoff serious?"  
  
Ismene smiled. "I don't know...I hope so. I think he's really special."  
  
"Well, I hope it works out. And I hope you find your father's legacy. Don't you wonder what it could be after all these years?"  
  
"It could just be a few pennies. But then I wonder why they went to the trouble of tracking me down all the way over in England if its not something important. I guess I'll find out soon enough." She lay back on the grass. "I hope your business does well."  
  
"Me too. It's weird – when we first met we were both penniless and friendless – now we have riches and lovers. We've come a long way."  
  
"We have..." Ismene agreed. "...but I don't think our adventure's over just yet."  
  
"Yours may not be – I look like I'm settling down!"  
  
"Nonsense! I'll always be here to try and drag you into the unknown."  
  
"I guess I can never resist" he laughed.  
  
"Think of this as a breather then. I'll be back for you one day."  
  
~**~  
  
Kate spent the night packing up her equipment, and the next morning she harnessed her shire horse to the large cart and led it through the camp to the London road. Wat and Roland had their own horse and cart on which they sat, with Ismene and Geoff holding Plato and Orthos, letting the horses graze while they waited. Kate waved, and Thomas appeared grinning from behind Plato. He helped her up to the front of the cart and jumped up beside her.  
  
"Is everything ready?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, if you lot are."  
  
"Let's be off then!" he called, and Wat jiggled the reins he held to make his chestnut mare walk on. Geoff and Ismene mounted and rode side-by-side behind Kate's cart, through the City of Oxford and out towards London. Will's land was south of the great city, and in two days they would leave Kate and Thomas to start a new life there. A further two days would bring them to the village, and Will's loyal herald and squires looked forward with joy to interrupting his honeymoon.  
  
A/N: Well, what'd you think? Thanks to everyone who read this fic, I hope you enjoyed it – I *may* have another in the pipeline, if the muse descends. Be sure to check out some of my other stuff! 


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